There is a visceral satisfaction in going to war with and exposing a false prophet. The sensation associated with that satisfaction is equal to that enjoyed by the false prophet herself — perhaps identical, but what do we know of such things?
Which pleasure I hear you ask? Ah, but that very same pleasure of conscience arising from the secret labyrinth of her soul where she admits to herself that indeed she is leading people astray, but where she justifies her actions on grounds that the people are happy despite themselves by the order she grants them or restores to them, an order which they long and pray for — the truth notwithstanding, of course.
But, I hear you philosophers ask: how can pleasure in a course of action serve as proof that the action itself, its reasons or its outcome are good?
Philosophers — I count on you to miss the wood for the trees for the pure, innocent, clear eyed pleasure in a good argument.
What you miss here is that prolonged disorder followed by a period of order is pleasurable and whether order in itself is good or bad is a question from a conceptual framework which is alien to life — and pleasure is sign-post of life, not of morals. And life is fundamentally amoral.
It is often the guiltiest conscience which speaks the loudest and most often.
Sometimes, we are like onions, peeling the layers of previous and oncoming generations, moving towards the core that is the nothing we are.
It is only human for someone who ascribes wholly to liberalism (as they understand it) to also be convinced that the alternatives are fascism, nazism, and communism. After all, we project ourselves on the world out of necessity.
And they are not necessarily wrong in their belief about the alternatives.
But when that conviction is so prevalent and entrenched as to become a blind spot, then you have the curious phenomenon of people who think that anything different to their point of view (liberalism notwithstanding), no matter how slight, necessarily leads to the alternative extremes.
This is what happens when an idea is conflated with the person (or people) who ascribe to it or opine to — when they think they embody it and so what they say about it is true, indubitable, perfect and incapable of objection.
Ideas are always spoilt by people and ever it was thus.
Why? — Because ideas organise people and people crave power.
A: I do not want my beloved to be perfect — far from it. I want them to be open, attentive and receptive to me.
B: Why not? A perfect person is surely a delight and does not come with torments and tragedies associated with imperfection.
A: Because above all I value love and nothing makes my love lazier than perfection, than things being as they should be, than my beloved being perfect. Like life, love is at its fullest and can grow to its highest when faced with challenges.
You wouldn’t know it and maybe you dare not see it, or if you’ve seen it, your vanity dare not accept it, but love also has its skills, its muscles and, like a living organism, like a unity between parts, it can grow or it can wither.
B: But there is surely something you like your beloved to be — or else how can you even be attracted to someone in the first place?
A: Yes, I want my beloved to be rough and ready, not smooth and sorry. But what has that got to do with perfection?
A: What makes you so good at making a decision?
B: I tell myself that there is always something more important to be done and that this pending decision is getting in the way; so long as I let it linger, it occupies more time, space and energy than it deserves.
On that first wink of daybreak, my Sun turned to me and She said:
I am bursting with energy – if I don’t fly away, then I will explode. I must be channeled, but first I must be absorbed — I must have a conductor, don’t you understand?
Please absorb me and then channel me — but beware, because you cannot hide from me.
I know the difference between the conductor who absorbs and channels and the insulator who pretends to do so by absorbing enough before splurging out the best of me.
Can you absorb and gently guide me towards something meaningful, or are you squandering me — are you forcing me to fly away, to explode with ferocious force…?