Notes from the Cafe

In 1864 Feyodor Dostoevsky published what is considered to be the first existentialist novel. The Underground Man is one of the most iconic characters in all of literature. One hundred and fifty years later, R.F. Georgy brings back the concept of an underground, Neo-Luddite to offer us a chilling image of the digital age. In the preface to Notes from the Underground, Dostoevsky states, "The author of the diary and the diary itself are, of course, fictitious. Nevertheless, it is clear that such persons as the writer of these notes not only may, but positively must, exist in our society." In Notes from the Cafe, Georgy introduces us to one such person with a unique observational perspective. The Cafe Dweller is the Underground Man brought back to life to offer us an unsettling commentary on the information age. In one sweeping attack, the Cafe Dweller declares, "Information paints no picture, sings no song, and writes no poem." Notes from the Cafe is a powerful intellectual indictment against science, technology, and the dizzying pace of modern life.

Quotes from Notes from the Cafe:

"Do you want to know why I smoke? I smoke in defiance to the science of our time. Yes, you heard correctly. I smoke out spite. Science has become our new church. It is the ipso-facto intellectual authority that instructs us on all aspects of living."

"Teachers no longer have autonomous control. They have surrendered their authority to sophisticated technocrats who are only interested in creating more technocrats to help expand and maintain the digital complex. The very idea that teaching is a noble and virtuous enterprise, whose singular aim is to transmit knowledge, is laughable. The digital age does not need teachers, gentlemen, the digital age needs information managers to keep our virtual palace moving along."

"You believe in progress. You believe in the perfectibility of man. You believe in the rational ordering of human beings. You believe in the crystal palace. You believe in... wait, no you worship the number four."

"We are the remainder of a fraction; a fraction that believes itself to be noble and proper. I lied just now, gentlemen, we are not worthy of being a remainder. We can't even aspire to being an irrational number. At least pi has a purpose and a function. We are the unfortunate zero that exists in the denominator of a fraction. We are undefined, a most unfortunate occurrence, I grant you."

"But let me ask you a question, gentlemen. Suppose the answers to all of our existential interrogation are offered to us on a silver platter, how would we respond? I mean, how would we react to such a revelation? Do you suppose man would be perfectly content with the answers to all of life's mystery? I'll let you in on a little secret, gentlemen. Man will never be satisfied with an answer. We fool ourselves into believing that we are interrogative creatures. We ask teleological questions as if we truly want to hear the answer. We are condemned to only ask. We don't want to know the answers. We are restless beings, gentlemen, or if you like, we are contingent."

"The agnostic will demand proof before he submits to the divine order of things. What's wrong with that, you say? I will tell you what is wrong with it. How the hell do you know what the proof should look like in order to acknowledge it as the proof you require? Do you see the extraordinary arrogance in demanding proof? We have assumed all along that those who require proof have no responsibility other than to sit back, relax and wait for something extraordinary to slap them into believing. We have been lead to believe the onus of proof is on those who affirm unsubstantiated claims. What you don't realize, gentlemen, is that those who demand proof have a greater burden placed upon them. So, I will ask you again, how will you know what the proof for God should like when it is offered to you?"