On the Philosophical Implications Surrounding the Non-Existence of Unicorns

I have not read all the books, but i've learned enough to know that the single most important topic in the world is unicorns. Against nihilism, against the dogmatic utilitarianism of science, against the atheistic existentialism of Camus stands the unicorn, proud and prostrate in the unbending conviction that he does not exist. If a woman were to hoist herself up an American flagpole upside-down every Tuesday morning instead of eating breakfast, it would in no essential way differ from the action of that blessed sage who first conceived of the unicorn while sitting by some medieval (and doubtless enchanted) fireside.

The unicorn represents best of all that superlative value we call superfluity. He is as superfluous as a child playing hopscotch; he is as superfluous as a giraffe playing hopscotch. We do not need him, though we invent him. We do not use him, though we adore him. It is a remarkable paradox that the very non-existence of the unicorn is a celebration of being. The very fact that he does not exist in the physical universe (that we know of) excites us to the more appealing fact that he could have existed. In philosophy classes, this celebration of being might be humorously referred to as the celebration of "is-ness." As one poet says, "that you are here, that life exists, and identity."

Creative superfluity, as in the instance of the unicorn, is not the capricious act of combining arbitrary objects. One does not add a horn to a horse and deduce a unicorn. The unicorn stands logically prior to both the horn and the horse. No (real) creator aims to make a bricolage, though every creation is a bricolage. Given this, I can think of no other human act which imitates our Lord more intimately than the one to create or restore being.

And this--to abuse you with an oversimplification--is yet another region where our protean culture lacks in virility. Nihilism doesn't care about you let alone unicorns; utilitarianism thinks it reasonable to ride one unicorn toward a stable occupied by more unicorns only so that they may ride one of them (ad infinitum); and atheistic existentialist dislike unicorns as much as they ethics if they eat a bad tuna fish sandwich for lunch. It seems to me, then, that we can only experience an authentic celebration of being where we already have an authentic value of being.

Superfluous creation, being invented simply to love that being, offers the only satisfying model on which to appreciate the non-existence of the unicorn. By the same principle, and of infinitely greater importance, it is the only model on which to celebrate the existence of Venice square, of cheeseburgers, or of loved ones. It is, in a sweeping phrase, the only way to authentically celebrate myself.