| After 8 years of living
abroad, I recently decided to have my personal library
shipped to me. Building a house in the northeast of
Thailand, I soon would have a permanent home for the
huge collection, saving writers like Shakespeare, Byron,
Kierkegaard, and Balzac from the inevitable humiliation
of being sold for 10¢ a pop, beside a grill of
hot dogs and funnel cakes on a Pennsylvania lawn.
Shipments began to arrive about 4 weeks ago. Staring
at the mound of boxes in my living room, I was both
thrilled and nervous. Like meeting close friends after
a long absence, there’s always concern over how
time may have changed the relationship. I slowly sliced
some packaging tape and opened a box. Neatly arranged
before me were paperback editions of Kerouac, Wolfe,
Mailer, Vonnegut, Updike, and at the bottom lay spread
the hard-covers. Hunter S. Thompson’s The
Proud Highway and a dog-eared copy of the Holy
Bible instantly grabbed my attention.
Seeing Thompson’s book of letters next to the
Bible, reminded me of just how much that religious work
had influenced the legendary “gonzo” writer—an
impact that was rarely, if ever, mentioned in the tributes
that poured in after his death. It was a glaring omission,
and one that I also was guilty of in my own eulogy.
In Generation of Swine, Thompson’s searing
indictment of the 1980s, he acknowledges the Bible’s
powerful influence on his work:
“I have stolen more quotes and thoughts and purely
elegant little starburst of writing from the Book of
Revelation than anything else in the English language…I
love the wild power of the language and the purity of
the madness that governs it and makes it music.”
But it wasn’t just Revelation’s that impacted
Thompson. His writing is littered with borrowings from
other Testament Books, both New and Old. A proud southern
gentleman from Kentucky, he often depicted the world
in biblical terms, famously claiming that Richard Nixon
was evil in a way that “only those who believe
in the physical reality of the Devil can understand.”
And in a barbed attack on American culture Thompson
described Hell as:
“…a viciously overcrowded version of Phoenix—a
clean, well-lighted place full of sunshine and bromides
and fast cars where almost everybody seems vaguely happy,
except for the ones who know in their hearts what is
missing.”
The Scriptures relevance for Thompson flooded back
as I stared at The Proud Highway and Bible
in the bottom of the box. It reminded me of the mystery
surrounding Thompson’s brief suicide note. Before
shooting himself with a revolver, he had typed the single
word “Counselor” in the center of a blank
page. To date, fellow journalists and friends of Thompson
have expressed confusion as to what the word might signify,
comparing it to the mysterious “Rosebud”
of Citizen Kane. And that’s when it hit me. I
picked up the Bible and quickly scanned the Gospel of
John. There it was in the 14th chapter:
“16 And I will pray the Father, and he will give
you another Counselor*, to be with
you for ever, 17 even the Spirit of truth, whom the
world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor
knows him; you know him, for he dwells with you, and
will be in you.”
It isn’t surprising that journalists didn’t
pick up on this connection with Thompson’s goodbye
in the days following his death. While the Bible has
wielded greater influence on the history of American
Letters than any other work, we currently live in an
age where any mention of the Bible immediately conjures
up images of right-wing nut-cases, homophobic TV evangelists,
and door-knocking Adventists in bad suits. Fewer and
fewer educated people (including Christians) read the
Bible anymore. But Thompson wasn’t a product of
this age. He was of that rapidly dwindling generation
of writers who saw the majesty of the Bible as both
a work of literature and a looking-glass into the human
condition.
Thompson surely would have felt drawn to the Gospel
of John, the most lyrical and mystical of the four Gospels.
It’s there that we find the pronouncement: “In
the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God,
and the Word was God.” It is a decree that has
resonated with writers from Twain to Whitman to Fitzgerald
to Miller—a revelation that words are transcendent,
that a writer’s vocation is more than just a job.
It should be a calling, wherein the “Spirit of
truth” (Counselor) is followed unfailingly. No
mean trick.
For following your Counselor often means discovering
things that aren’t fit for polite company. It’s
never pleasant to find evil growing among the peonies.
Or in the hearts of your elected officials. Better to
be “vaguely happy” than uncomfortable. Thompson,
though, never fell for that devil’s lie. He knew
that even though the truth often cuts like a razor,
it also serves as a “Comforter*” when the
jackals begin circling. Because as Thompson recognized,
the jackals don’t really give a damn whether you
speak the truth or not. They are coming after us all
one day. But facing the bastards down is a whole lot
easier when you’ve got the truth by your side.
*The word “Counselor” is found in
the Revised Standard Version of the Bible. In the King
James Version the translation uses the word “Comforter”
to refer to the “Spirit of truth.”
D.A.
Blyler is the author of the expatriate novel Steffi’s
Club. His essays have appeared at Salon.com, The Korean
Herald, Bangkok’s The Nation, and many other online
and international publications.
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