Back in 1918, Max Weber already pointed the loss of the unity of ethical-religious, aesthetical and cognitive values as prominent traces of the time. Intimacy, assaulted by the media, violated by the State s interference, turned into the object of hysterical exhibitionism and sadic sneaking, disowned of its language by the commercial and ideological exploration of its symbols, simply no longer exists. But many things happened since Weber. The three supreme values, at this point, are not only independent, but antagonistic. Goodness in its turn seems to be hypocritical, fakely sentimental and stupid.
Truth is ugly, meaningless and depressing.
Aesthetics celebrate vampires, the death of the soul, cruelty, the man who shoves his arm up to the elbow inside another man s anus. Ethics is reduced to an accusatory discourse of each one against their own dislikings, sided by the most cynical self-indulgence. Truth is nothing but the statistic consensus of academe corrupted to their hearts. But nothing will prevent a writer from speaking, in his own works, to the survivors of the spiritual doom of the twentieth century, hoping that they exist and that they are not so few. Overwhelmed by the combined harassment of banality and brutality, they can still suspect that in their hidden dreams and hopes there is a truth more certain than everything the world today imposes upon us with the label of reality , guaranteed by Science and the Food and Drug Administration .