In the Maw of the Ungulates

           “It is the curse of our life and times that we find ourselves living in the maw of the ungulates.”

           “How’s that? Who’s ma?”

           “Not ma, my semi-learned friend, not the matriarchal source of your esteemed lineage; rather maw, the interior of your closed mouth, the cud upon which the hooved ungulate spends its days endlessly chewing and chewing.”

           “Ah, that clarifies it, the cud of the hooved beast. You had me guessing there for a minute as to your precise meaning. (Pausing.) Are you going to pass the jug, then, or am I to inquire further as to the manner of your pending commentary?”

           They waited patiently for the rain to pass. The two homeless men sat on a worn, wooden bench overlooking the river as it passed beneath the city bridge under which they each found refuge and sanctuary. Homer, as he called himself, the older of the two men, scratched the grey stubble of his chin as he carefully considered how he should proceed. Ducor, the younger, licked his dry lips eagerly at the prospect of enjoying the Tokay wine for merely serving as an audience for his garrulous companion.

           Homer began. “I awoke this morning considering the staging of the ungulate’s ingestion, the point before swallowing as the corollary to the human act of cognition. As we consider the meaning of data, facts, stimuli, ideas, and the context of same, we have yet to commit that data to the decision-making process. It is the mastication of matter, the savoring, the processing, which is the crucial step. Once we’ve swallowed the mass, committed the goods to our person, unlearning is much more difficult.”  

           Ducor took a swig from the proffered jug, then wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “If I take your meaning, then, the learning begins with the chew, not the swallow? But the cow is only one of many ungulates, Homer. Chewing endlessly is not common to most. Take the horse or pig, for instance.”

           “Well observed, my friend. I only use the ungulate as an example of an animal we find ourselves most commonly allied with, for sustenance, say. The pig is so similar in anatomical structure that its organs are often used for human transplant. At any rate, the animal is only a metaphor. We are as domesticated as the pig or cow or horse or sheep and similarly open to swallowing whatever we are fed.”

           “Consider the news we are being fed today…”

           “The fake news or the real news?”

“Ah, there you are. My point exactly. What is the fake news and what is the real news? Who decides? Real news, what we used to call journalism, was news based on objective reporting supported by evidence, corroborating sources and verification. Climate change is not a Chinese hoax. The Chinese were taking a lead in the nations supporting the Paris accords.”

“So that would seem contradictory.”

“Indeed.  Exiting the Paris accords and reducing our carbon footprint isn’t a European plot to weaken American business. American business leaders want investment in clean energy.”

 “Deregulating controls on greedy banking practices or eliminating the rule that puts the broker’s financial interest ahead of his client’s, isn’t making America great. It’s increasing the gulf between rich and poor.”

Ducor nodded. “Of course, my broker has assured me that he always has my best interest at heart.”

“I didn’t realize you had a broker, Ducor.”

“Well, I don’t actually, but if I did he’d be no broker than I am.”

 Homer thundered on.

“And all the rest of these recent Presidential initiatives… Increasing the allowable amounts of arsenic in the drinking water, gutting the clean water act, removing EPA environmental oversight of mining effluents into American rivers and streams isn’t making Americans healthier. Cozying up to dictatorial regimes in Turkey, the Philippines, and Russia while thumbing our nose at our NATO allies isn’t making America safer or putting America first, it’s making us a laughingstock among Western democracies.”

“But don’t some people want jobs?” Ducor asked. “Maybe not the philosopher class, such as us…”

“The $110 billion arms sale to the Saudis announced by the President on his recent foreign visit and touted as a jobs coup? Fake news. The actual agreements were for about $25 billion in proposals, some of which have existed on paper going back to 2013.”              

“But this is all politics. Where is the truth in politics? ‘Truth’ lies in the bias of one’s political viewpoint, doesn’t it, Homer?”

“You can lead a horse to water but not make him drink? Is that your pitch to the ungulate?”

“If the argument is that we are being fed lies and swallowing them whole, without proper consideration, then yes, I suppose I am saying that.” Ducor rested the jug on his knee a moment, then passed it to his friend.

“Let us say we have the heart of a pig, the vapid contentment of a cow, the unquenched thirst of the horse, the caught-in-the-headlight stare of the deer, the complacency of the sheep and so on, it behooves us to at least display the brain of the human. I once saw a car which sported bumper stickers reflecting the conflicted moral assessments of a liberal thinker. One read ‘Proudly Pro-Choice!’ while the other read ‘Boycott Veal!’ The verdict: Take the child, save the cow. What are our human values? One wonders.” Homer sighed.

“Yes, it’s sad,” Ducor agreed. “I saw a car the other day with a bumper sticker which read ‘My wife, yes. My dog, maybe. My gun, never.’ Two kids were in the back seat. I wonder where they fit into his values hierarchy.”

“Life, like truth, passes, with barely a human dent. Perhaps we should simply enjoy this fine wine and watch the river flow,” suggested Homer. “You can never step in the same river twice. Heraclitus said that.” Homer took a pull on the jug.

“I thought Pocahontas said that in Disney’s movie version of Pocahontas,” said Ducor.

“Fake muse,” replied Homer.