Perhaps the only real difference between the man of propaganda and the conscious man is that the former will not do anything in his daily life simply because he has considered the action in its essence—questioned and examined it—and decided that it was best. He will simply do it, and that is all, whether that involves spending his money, voting, shooting a gun, or flaying the flesh off his neighbors back. And to the degree that he just does these things, any of them, to that same degree does he cease to be human. Propaganda is, at its essence, the animalization of man. It manufactures men who are, as the scientists say, without wills. As a differentiated man, propaganda will perhaps cause you more pain than any other single modern phenomenon. This is not because it will touch you as deeply, since you have a degree of natural immunity (or else you would not be reading this book). No, it will agonize you because it will touch everyone around you, and there will be nothing you can do to overpower it. Set before it the greatest work of philosophy and wisdom—it will be trampled into the dust by a thousand feet marching, chanting meaningless slogans. Produce the most eloquent of speeches!—it will be drowned out by an idiot talking nonsense on the television. Then you will realize one day that communication has become impossible. This will perhaps be the loneliest day of your life. But you must learn to accept it, to transcend it, and to accept the challenge, which is that you must speak in the small places, the secret places, the places where few will hear and none will remember your name. The age of famous philosophers is gone—the philosopher is as dead now as God. But that does not mean you cannot find, here and there, a lover of philosophy. It does not mean that you cannot find, even in the silence that is chaos, communion with God.