There is no proof, he said, that I am here or that you are here arguing against me. The irrelevancy of the whole thing astounds me--that we continue to pander to the Philosopher God of Reason--since science has long proved the inescapablity of nothingness. We're only motion, you and I, more empty space than "matter"--whatever that is.

My first instinct is to punch him--my second, to run. The latter is the only proper response to an argument that defeats itself yet convinces its master. And he truly is a brainwashed slave--chained to his evasion, yet fanatical in its defense: For a well-kept servant like himself, he is told, possesses more freedom than the independent man who must fend for his own food and fight his own battles. The slave howls, "A man is only truly free if he is liberated from burden!" And what is more burdensome than the necessity of thought?

As I recently discovered, I don't enjoy running. I'm a sucker for an argument I can't win--not because I'm wrong, mind you, but because the act of answering the question gives it undeserved validity. Granted, arguments on matters of taste rarely interest me. (I dislike apricots, and you will never convince me otherwise.) But reality is not ice cream. And existence is not Baskin Robbins. The "real" comes in one flavor and whether or not you "prefer" it is irrelevant. Man up and take a second scoop.

Ultimately, I'm not an advocate of Objectivism. Boiled down to its most basic philosophical axiom, I'm an advocate of the law of identity. I was derided recently for my confidence in an argument. I was called "too sure." I checked my premises and reiterated my stance, proud of the way I handled myself. My assuredness came not from an "inflated ego" or "conceitedness" but from the knowledge that my argument was backed by the only evidence necessary--not the media nor someone's personal blog nor my whim, but the objective arbiter of all disputes: A is A.

"This empty space just kicked your empty space's butt."

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