[The Man:] How would you know if you were the last man on earth? he said.
[Ely:] I dont guess you would know it. You'd just be it.
[The Man:] Nobody would know it.
[Ely:] It wouldnt make any difference. When you die it's the same as if everybody else did too.
[The Man:] I guess God would know it. Is that it?
[Ely:] There is no God.
[The Man:] No?
[Ely:] There is no God and we are his prophets. (237.23-237.30)
The Boy and The Man meet an old man on the road who at first says his name is Ely but then says that's not really his name. (For simplicity's sake, we're just calling him Ely.) Ely says some mysterious things, especially this last catchy phrase: "There is no God and we are his prophets." What in tarnation does that even mean? It could mean: "God doesn't exist and our suffering is proof that he doesn't exist." It could also mean: "God doesn't exist up above the universe, but he exists in some of us (like The Boy) and so we are his prophets." Or – and this is the more complicated, juicier version – it could just be one of those mystical religious statements that don't make logical sense but ring true to many people. (Here's a familiar one: "Jesus was both divine and human.") Is your head spinning now? Good.
[Ely:] When I saw that boy I thought I had died.
[The Man:] You thought he was an angel?
[Ely:] I didnt know what he was. I never thought to see a child again. I didnt know that would happen.
[The Man:] What if I said that he's a god?
The old man [Ely] shook his head. I'm past all that now. Have been for years. Where men cant live gods fare no better. You'll see. It's better to be alone. So I hope that's not true what you said because to be on the road with the last god would be a terrible thing so I hope it's not true. Things will be better when everybody's gone. (237.72-237.76)
Ely can be a real downer. For example, this statement: "It's better to be alone." He also pretty much says the years have worn down his belief in anything exceptional, anything holy. We think "where men cant live gods fare no better" means that men carry their gods within them. When men get broken by suffering, their gods also disappear. It's kind of a novel statement – that our happiness and comfort allow our gods to exist.
He loaded the flarepistol and as soon as it was dark they walked out down the beach away from the fire and he asked the boy if he wanted to shoot it.
[The Boy:] You shoot it, Papa. You know how to do it.
[The Man:] Okay.
He cocked the gun and aimed it out over the bay and pulled the trigger. The flare arced up into the murk with a long whoosh and broke somewhere out over the water in a clouded light and hung there. The hot tendrils of magnesium drifted slowly down the dark and the pale foreshore tide started in the glare and slowly faded. He looked down at the boy's upturned face.
[The Boy]: They couldnt see it very far, could they Papa?
[The Man:] Who?
[The Boy:] Anybody.
[The Man:] No. Not far.
[The Boy:] If you wanted to show where you were.
[The Man:] You mean like to the good guys?
[The Boy:] Yes. Or anybody that you wanted them to know where you were.
[The Man:] Like who?
[The Boy:] I dont know.
[The Man:] Like God?
[The Boy:] Yeah. Maybe somebody like that. (336.1-336.15)
The Man doesn't really believe either "the good guys" or God will actually see the flarepistol. But the way McCarthy describes the flare's explosion over the water – "hot tendrils of magnesium drifted slowly down the dark" – suggests that the gesture is somehow beautiful. To put it another way, we have a hard time believing McCarthy would use such pretty language if he wants us to feel despair. Rather, we think McCarthy wants us to see The Man's irrational hope of finding other "good guys" (or God) as both tragic and beautiful.