About half way through this article I realized was having a grand time. Oh, I love to write and relish thinking, but I was just having too much fun pounding this one out. Then I let some people read an early draft and they didn’t get it. Well, they got maybe 15 percent, but the rest … hmmmm … not so much. Just so you know, they are long time readers and not dense. So, the problemo, the source of the disconnect, was with the content of the article. After a bit of weeping, I decided that all was not lost; at least, I had a good time doing it. The thought occurred to me that I should just shelve it for another day. I have about 39 articles, lying around in various states of disrepair—that have suffered as similar fate—so, what is one more?
But … I was having such a good time. Pleasure addict that I am, the reasonable thing seemed to be rewrite, and rewrite and rewrite and see if we could get the 15% closer to 1,000,000%. (No one will ever accuse me of thinking small.)
For the better part of three years, I have been nibbling around the edges of a much, much larger cookie, with occasional assaults on a chocolate chip in the middle. Actually, the cookie is more like the proverbial Antarctica. The Arena of Ideas is a landmass all on its own with a hostile environment that requires some very specific gear and survival skills. My ongoing mission is to boldly take you where few men have gone before, by summarizing and repackaging a conversation for public consumption. Most importantly, I’ve wanted you to see that specific ideas are the foundation of tyranny in all forms in all ideologies. These ideas are as consistent as their outcomes.
The simplest way to show the ideological cause and effect is to show the specific manifestation, identify the ideas, and illustrate how they work out into actions. That has been the bulk of Spiritual Tyranny’s focus.
But of course, the inevitable question is … so what are the right ideas? I started to address the right ideas, or the sources of the right ideas in the posts Consciousness and Moral Clarity, but the posts are far from comprehensive.
In an effort to get more detailed thoughts from me, I was recently accused of hiding my true and full thoughts behind some lofty intellectual-ism. (I actually laughed out loud upon reading that sentence.) My articles are driven by an overt intellectual energy, indeed I relish that reality, but what does a guy have to do? Bill Belichick and other Lessons in Silliness? Musing in my Underoos? Paul Revere, Shrek and Donkey? It’s not like my articles can be mistaken for Aquinas’ Summa Theologica. I even admitted to wearing spandex!! There is very little left to the imagination after a few hundred thousand words.
I am hardly hiding, but have avoided being express in laying claim to some intellectual or spiritual pedigree for three reasons:
- To let my critics twist in the wind.
- To let interested parties come to this historic conversation without having to wade through the preconceptions embedded in those pedigrees.
- To illustrate that I don’t give one good rip about being an intellectual pure blood vetted by the historic consensus and refuse to pay homage to dead men’s ideas.
On some level, I am sympathetic of the request for my intellectual pedigree. I’m openly waging war against some seriously entrenched, longstanding Icons that have been historically deemed off limits. Their iconic blessedness enforced with bonfires, swords, and evil portents of quick trips to Hell. I suspect a few antagonistic lurkers have muttered the word “heretic” in the general proximity to my name as they denigrate bloggers in their underwear and the evils of the postmodern polyglot hell. To be sure, I received an email likening my commentary to Sherman’s March in Christian theology.
Too funny! I replied: more like Nagasaki.
I understand that the substance of what I write makes people twitchy. They want to know the endgame so they don’t throw their intellectual and spiritual hat in the ring with me and find out I’m a raving lunatic. They want to make sure that at the end of the day, I don’t make an appeal to some funny glasses, conversations with Moroni, and live in Idaho, in my mother’s basement with a harem who calls me Lord Prophet Maha Johnny.