Le Monde

The morning air was fresh, but I was late. The car didn’t start, the cat needed watering, and the traffic was already increasing. I saw her as I entered and was relieved to find she hadn’t left yet. I apologized as one should: “Sorry I’m late.” She looked at me with a glimmer of happiness in her eyes. “Time is really not mattering to me anymore. It’s not my time you are using. I would likely be here with a coffee anyway.” But she did not yet have a coffee.

I offer to get our drinks. Le Monde is a small coffee shop in our town, the name an ode to New Orleans – the coffee an ode to mediocrity.

It’s almost determined to be a surprise, for within any given cup is a coffee experience that ranges from miraculous to devastating. It seems even to abide its distribution along the curve, in that the cups of extreme experience are few and far between, while a simply acceptable cup is common.

“Yes, and thank you – Just a latte. You never know with this place – I don’t want to look forward to something.” She smiles. I am glad I am not the only one to notice. In line, I see the barista – or is it baristo, barist-bro? – is named Meursault. “I bet you get jokes all the time about your name.” I say, just being myself.

“What about my name?” he says, both gruff and curious. “The Stranger, L’Etranger? Camus?” He looks at me as if I have begun bleeding from my eyes and he doesn’t know how to tell me that. I continue “The universe is indifferent?” And this clicks with him and he nods, and I smile, and then I nod, in that order. I wonder, though, does he recall the book, or does he just accept the universe’s indifference?

As I mutter our orders to him – a latte and a hot black coffee, it occurs to me that Camus would be possibly more satisfied with the latter. To understand the modern reach of the concept of an indifferent universe may please him. I think on this as I wait. Perhaps he didn’t get to say what the next step was, though, before his death. Now that we accept it - what do we do with that knowledge?

I see our cups on the counter. Very funny. One says “The Stranger” in Sharpie, and the other says “CaMOO” with a little smiley face. I take it that one is the latte.

When I sit, we sip. The world abounds upon itself outside. The town is small, but in its busy-ness it feels as if it could fold over on itself with energy. “How is your coffee?” I ask, you look down. “Correct.” “I see,” I respond plainly in full understanding. Another day, another correctly made coffee that just tastes bad.

For what it’s worth mine is good. But incorrect - as it’s iced. I don’t even know if anyone has ever intentionally ordered an iced black coffee, but the coldness is right for this day, and the blackness too. So, it is incorrect, but good.

“When the indifference of the universe itself is observed,” I begin “do you find that to be null or void?” She looks curiously at me. “Null? Void? Aren’t they both just emptiness?”

“Well, no. Should something be null, it would be a value of sorts, but the value itself is absent. There is a place for something, but nothing is there. Null implies the properties of a value with the absence of a value.” It is not always easy to translate something technical to philosophy. Even still her eyes indicates that she follows.

“And void?” She asks. “It doesn’t have the properties of a value?” I nod – “It is emptiness itself.”

She sips her awfully correct coffee with significant displeasure. “It’s like the milk was spoiled and the beans came from an armpit.” I nod again and understand completely. As she works through the displeasure she makes a decision – “It must be void.”

“Interesting.” I find myself in deep contemplation. If the indifference is the absence of motive in a complete sense, then maybe all efforts for anything are hopeless. The net positive becomes complete minutia on a question of scale. Love may be hopeless. Hate as well – but we knew that already.

Should the universe be null it would imply either intentional indifference – perhaps to seek balance, or the potential for a value. There is possibility of change from indifference, though, were it null. A net positive or negative could be implementable as the framework for a value is already built in the properties itself.

I sip my cold, delicious coffee. “I may very well think it’s rather null.”

“Wouldn’t that imply intentional design, though? I thought you were against those theocratic institutions. If there is intentional design, there is a correct answer somewhere to how that was done.” She says as the chess game of thoughts approaches a gambit of sorts. Or gambling. Or both.

“I don’t think so.” My thoughts and strategy solidify and unify. “Just because it has a purpose doesn’t mean it was designed. In fact, it may just be built for us to find and fill – a cave instead of a house.” Her bad coffee is starting to smell; the milk was absolutely soured.

“Regardless, I am really just against the idea of divine rewards and punishments for acts we take. It negates our autonomy, but also our will. If we do good for a reward, we are just animals who learned the consequence.”

“Good is good regardless of the reason.” She points out.

“Maybe so, but the will for good is goodness itself.” My rebuttal is confusing. “Maybe I should say, the will to do good is the seed for all pure good acts. If the seed is a reward, it can spoil – like your coffee. The milk is spoiled; your coffee is bad. The intent was good, but the reward of shirking the responsibility of checking the date on the milk – the efficiency, the sale, the profit – has let the coffee become irresponsibly bad.” She looks at her coffee.

“My coffee, though is good. Unexpectedly so because the same seed of efficiency led to a mistake.” I say this and seek the final fundamental thought that ties it together. “Willful good is an unmistakable kindness. From the smallest act to the grandest. Each altruistic act has the potential to edge the null indifference of the universe to a positive value.”

She smiles, and I do as well. “As each act breeds the goodness for and of itself – with no other factor but the intent to do good.” I nod, and smile, and finish my coffee in that order. She tosses the rest of hers and prepares to continue her day. We stand and offer a friendly hug to each other. “Good to see you.” She says and leaves quietly.

I am ready as well and think on this moment. I stand in the shop – people in line, waiting for their own special cup of surprise. Some people come, some people go, but I stand in gentle thought. I proceed to the counter and find Meursault. “Hello again, excuse me, I just wanted to let you know… I think the milk has gone bad.”