1
I could write this the way “writers” write. Do you want proof? I am equipped with enough facts about myself to understand that I am something of a weak man, insofar as the inside of me shrieks at confrontation, I do not have the conviction required to “close” with the women I desperately desire, although saying that I do not obtain the disrespect necessary to do so, at least in today’s climate, is a plausible reframe which would allow me to keep the truth at a distance, but that is not why I have sat before a keyboard, reader, to keep the truth at bay in attempt to spare how I feel about myself. Conversely, I am something of an intellectually strong man. I think I am anyway, in the sense that in this seemingly uneducated world in which we only read 140 characters at a time, as you all pontificate amongst yourselves in a competition to see who can blow the hottest air, grandstanding about how you will not comply to overbearing authority or outrageous rules (or mandates), I listen in silence and do, or not do, the things you say you will or will not do. How noble of me! Of course, this is not directed at you personally, reader; however, it may be, if you happen to be a weak man-of-action as I have just described. Do you see? I can write the way writers write, but I elect not to because that is not the way I fucking speak. That is how I write – how I speak, and I do not speak like an asshole even though I may have just come across as one. How quickly you forget, reader! Did I not just admit to you that I am a pussy? Surely, the humiliating manner in which I described myself before I described what a nobleman I am has balanced itself out.
A summation of the above is very simple. Sometimes I am a pussy; other times, I am not. An illustration of myself, indeed, but also an illustration that most writers choose to write in an effort to show off some type of intellectual superiority, typing hot air rather than breathing it, almost tricking us into thinking what we read was something when in reality, ’twas nothing. Now, reader, you must be accusing me of insinuating that I am better than most writers at writing. Hm. A fair accusation given what you have read, but do you know, reader, that in the age in which we live, consisting of mostly self-loathing narcissists, that it is okay to boast about something you are good at doing? A tangent, that, but allow me to tell you what I know this is, because I have not yet decided if it also means that I am a better writer than most writers. What it is – is an attack on my own impressionability. Most anything I read, listen to, or watch, seeps into my being, whether I like what I have ingested or not and becomes a part of me. I do not want somebody else’s thoughts to become my thoughts. Remember, I try to write how I speak. Fuck what they think. I am not a pussy who needs to be told what to think or how to think. Oh, dear reader. Is my impressionability because I do not have thoughts of my own, because I lack the intellectual capability to generate them on my own accord, because I lack the personal experience it takes to credit or discredit them, because I am not a man-of-action, but an intellectually inferior intellectual? Such a pussy, me!
I know a man, whom I respect, envy, and could mock simultaneously, who when after listening to an extended diatribe of mine can provide a synopsis of what I tried to say in a single sentence. This man is no intellectual, far from it, but the most beautiful, profound messages or lessons I have heard in my time on this Earth have been simple ones from this simpleton. Reader, what is intellect? Tell me, if an esteemed intellectual authors a book, let us say 500 pages in length about a particular topic, but it takes a man with no formal education to summarize the book in a sentence, who then is the man of supreme intellect? An extreme example, the reader says, stating that a scenario in which that occurs could never be, but did I not just do that myself? Did I not type to you the way an intellectual would, while in practicality with the very next keystroke render the manner in which he would useless with a simple sentence: “Sometimes I am a pussy; other times, I am not?” “If you cannot articulate something in a way that everybody can understand, then you do not understand it yet.”
It appears that in the midst of all this that I am pitting the men-of-action, or working men (and women – because if I do not add women to that, even though it is already understood that I mean both, which has now opened a new can of worms, the vindictive yet privileged youth of America will pressure WordPress to delete this page and/or post claiming that a Nazi has written it), against more intellectual, introverted types. They are not necessarily at odds with one another, as you hardly ever see these opposing lifestyles engaging in physical confrontation, if at all, not least because the introvert would be on the receiving end of a thrashing due to their often-sickly demeanor, juxtaposed with the action-man’s burly stature. This, we all know. It is not new information. What may not be common knowledge is that when the two do manage to cross paths, in a business setting, a romantic triangle, or however they do, the war is silently waged, with the one who suffered defeat becoming resentful toward the other. Generally speaking, what happens when the smart man loses out is he is reduced to isolation, tears, nihilism, and questioning his own being. Does this not seem to be the life an intellectual leads, one of destitution, loneliness, and sadness, while even on their death bed trying to offer one last profound statement that would validate their existence? On the contrary, when the action man loses out, he slams doors, screams, yells, becomes violent, and drives himself to the brink of insanity, proving to the world what a fool he really is. Men of genius suffer for lack of courage; men of action suffer for lack of intelligence. A life without suffering exists not. “We only get to choose which poison we are going to take.” One would only come to know this if they experienced it, as I have, having suffered defeat at the hands of both competitors in the “romantic ring,” the mentally underdeveloped man-of-action and the man of a larger brain. While I have considered that in either scenario I was a victim, or volunteer as there are no victims, of an unfortunate circumstance of taste, while true to some degree, I do not believe it is the whole truth. The whole truth is that sometimes I am a pussy; other times, I am not, but a failure to choose a lane has done me in on those occasions.
Pardon me. My ego has kicked in. There is only so much self-deprecation I can take before offering myself push-back. Fuck you, me. Have you not had successes? Have you not managed to woo, in your own estimation, the finest of women, even if in a few cases by luck, but surely not by all? As a matter of fact, have you not managed to do so in a far worse state than you are now, and are you not in a far better shape today? Is there not something else in play? My sincerest apologies, reader. You must be thinking I am writing this in vain, taking the stage to speak only of myself, and have become quite annoyed with the pendulum swinging from submissiveness to confidence. One may conclude over-confidence, even arrogance, after I tell you that, today, I find it almost comical that weaker and dumber men than I, most definitely weaker and dumber than I, are finding success in droves! How has this become possible that when I was weaker and dumber, I found more success than I have now, the same success that the weak and dumb of have seen today? Undeniably, it is the women to blame! Why, yes! A lack of quality! Sarcasm, reader. I hope you understood. Let me tell you, for all the misogyny that was within me prior to the version of myself that I am today, a spite that has been lifted out of me by many great women, particularly women of ‘advanced age,’ I shall never blame my dear ladies – for anything. No, for if it is a lack of quality, and that theory has only entered the cosmos partly to take the focus off of myself, it is my fault, men’s fault, for that being the case, which it is likely not. Reader, you now ask, “Are you suggesting that women are responsible for nothing?” If in the context of interactions between men and women we subscribe to the James Brown philosophy that this is a man’s world, that would not be anything if not for a woman or a girl, and many of us do, then is it not our duty as men to accept responsibility for that world we claim to be ours and the environment which we have created?
Accepting this as accurate, it may or may not be, I forbid any man to place the blame upon my lovely ladies, citing that they are at fault for any lack of quality amongst them. Now, if men are to accept this responsibility, removing blame from women and taking it upon ourselves, that would suggest that there is no shortage of quality women but a shortage of quality men. It has not always been this way, has it? Do we agree, assuming that we agree so far, likely not, that there once was and now there is not? In that case, where have they gone? As far as I can tell, there are only three types of men in this world. Men of action, men of intellect, and men who have not chosen between the two. Ah. I hear you, male reader. You are both, you are! I hereby congratulate you on unlocking the balance we all desire; however, are you not presented with a new problem? A competition amongst the most elite of men striving for the most elite of women? Oh, my silly male reader! The more we change, the more we remain the same. That is the phrase, anyway. Why you are now jockeying for status with Elon Musk and Conor McGregor! You are still one of us, Sir. One of us, one of us! All this talk of picking lanes. Reader, are you now perturbed that I speak not of myself but of the world around me, when mere paragraphs have passed and we both admitted that I was caught in a bit of a soliloquy? Soliloquy – nobody fucking talks like that. Were we both not frustrated with myself for talking about myself? As you wish, reader.
Does the question now become which of the two is more productive, the man of action or the intelligent man? An obvious answer is that the two polar opposites need to coexist with one another, as tends to be the case in all opposite ends of a spectrum, but I, for one, am not a fan of pity-pat, fence-playing, unassuming answers like that. It is my belief that there is no such thing as a fifty-fifty split. You may think this is splitting hairs, but the closest we shall ever get to reaching fifty-fifty is fifty-one-forty-nine. Something is always, if even very slightly, better than something else. Earlier, we have described a man with hardly any education who could, hypothetically, be more intelligent than that of a man who has authored books, if he was able to summarize an entire book with a single sentence. While this would deem the work of the intellectual pointless, in my opinion, if an event such as this were ever to occur, and I believe I have provided small examples of this indeed happening, have not new questions sprung into, for lack of a better word, action? Would the “simpleton” have come to such a simple conclusion if not for the initial work of the intellectual? Perhaps the case was made so strongly by the author, which is (or should be), the goal of an author or writer, to present an idea as powerfully as possible, but it must not be left out that the goal is to, at the same time, present any opposing case to his original idea as strongly as possible so that the reader is not swindled by wit or creativity, but is left with all necessary information to conclude something on their own merit. If the man-of-action is able to determine the argument of the writer with simplicity, then has this not been accomplished, the goal of the writer, but would he have been able to do so otherwise?
Somebody in my “meetings” had recommended to me a book, “You Can’t Make Me Angry” by Paul O. A simple read, this book, and in no way is this meant to be a shot at the author; however, after reading the book in its entirety in one sitting, I tossed the book in a corner along with other things I shall never need to see again. “Waste of time,” I thought. Do not let your emotions run roughshod on you, for feelings are not facts. Congratulations. You have now completed the reading of “You Can’t Make Me Angry.” I must say, though, reader, that the author does admit himself that you can understand the thesis of the book just by reading the title, “You Can’t Make Me Angry.” Fair enough, I suppose, as at least there was an admittance that his work could potentially be a waste of time, which I have decided it was, but because I chose to read it anyway just who exactly is the dummy? Still, reader, the point stands. The purpose of literature is not to waste one’s fucking time! Certainly, it is not to write something that everybody already knows, or not just something that everybody already knows, but something that everybody is already able to articulate! In this case, specifically, it dawns on me that the author has achieved the goal, albeit in an especially lazy, cheap fashion. Maybe you knew the direction in which that was headed, which if you did, I have wasted your time, and in turn, have failed at executing the writer’s goal. Where are you going? We are not finished yet, reader. Not so fast. The fat lady has not sung.
A common phrase that has been told to me is that one “cannot think themselves into action,” thus proving, if it is true, that the man-of-action has at least the one-percentage-point advantage over the intellectual, fifty-one over forty-nine; and therefore, being of even just slightly more worth. At face value, this phrase seems irrefutable, as I have never lain in bed in some state of depression, thinking of all the things that I should do, and because I have thought them, done them. No, what brings one out of a saddened state is action first, propelling themselves out of bed, choosing to do something, anything, whatever it is. Yes, reader, that does appear to be how it works, but tell me, if one cannot think themselves into action, what happens if one’s thinking is not oriented properly? What happens if one is not thinking straight? The two combatants are now “you cannot think yourself into action” vs. “think before you act.” Does one not end up in dire circumstances – jail, rehab, death even, when they are acting without thinking, and did not the thought, even if just a fleeting one, a blip on the radar so to speak, of propelling oneself out of bed come first? You agree now, do you, reader? That one finds themselves in trouble when acting without thinking? The problem, reader, is that it is possible, very possible, that people wind up entrenched in various disturbances precisely because they are, indeed, thinking. Perhaps the phrase should be that one cannot think themselves into right action, but are we absolutely convinced that action cannot come before thought? Am I not purposely manipulating the odds in my favor because I think of myself as intellectual and not a man-of-action, so that I may justify my existence as more valuable? An imperative question to ask in order to uncover the hidden human agenda, for truth would never be found if it were not uncovered, but which, unfortunately, lies in the ninth circle of hell. Who dares enter, reader?
2
While the analogy of the hidden human agenda lying, at its worst, in the ninth circle of hell is an accurate one, if it is too dramatic, let us think of it in terms of a hotel elevator, with the top floor, or rooftop bar even, being the surface of the agenda and with the bottom floor, or parking garage, being where the true motives of the human being reside. For example, at this rooftop bar, we see a man interacting with a woman. Naturally, he is trying to present himself in a fashion that suggests that he is not exclusively interested in her sexually, but rather that he has a much deeper, personal interest. Maybe he does; maybe he doesn’t, but you have witnessed this pattern enough times to understand that it is more than likely the former. Down a floor from the rooftop bar of the human agenda we go, reader. On the surface, it is just a simple conversation. One floor down, we have a man with only a sexual interest in the woman. Do you know, reader, that in the context of the hidden human agenda, we may never see beyond the second floor from the top, even though it extends all the way down to the parking garage? It is very possible, and I only know this because I have shamefully done this, that the man is attempting to convince this woman that he is interested, just to evoke a feeling of jealousy in another, an admittedly petty game, but one human’s play over and over nonetheless. Press the button to drop to another floor. Isn’t that so fun to do?
Dostoevsky, who is the inspiration behind most of what you are reading now, had written a short story entitled, A Christmas Tree and a Wedding. I will not spoil it for you, as you should read it for yourself, but a quick synopsis, which, ironically, does not make Dostoevsky the lesser intellectual as I have written about previously, is that a man who was seen chastising a young girl eventually marries her. It is a peculiar story. I did not know what to make of it or how to interpret it initially, but what I have gathered, is that God only knows what people are up to, God only knows why people choose to do what they do, or why they say what they say. Do you know something, reader? Do you know why I did not like You Can’t Make Me Angry? While what I have said about the book are my true feelings, I did not like the book because I did not particularly like the person who recommended it to me. From the rooftop, a level down. There are many reasons why, although I concocted these reasons myself, I was not a fan of his, but moving down another floor, I had a certain attraction to his girlfriend at the time. The closer we get to the parking garage, reader, the more I wish to recoil and not tell you of such things, but I did not sit behind a keyboard to disguise the truth. If I were to discredit his stupid book recommendation, I would thereby discredit him as intellectual, for the stupid literature he reads is what makes him stupid, and in the end, it is I who would be worthy of the attention of the attractive woman! Oh, how dare you scoff at me! Tell me it is not true that you do not have disgusting motives in the parking garage yourself! Of course, you do, and in actuality, this is a far less revolting example than the others I could provide, but that they do exist is all you need to know. The grander the hotel, the darker the hidden human agenda runs.
Why does a rich man wish to be rich? Why, of course, because you can buy things with money! We are not so naïve, are we, reader? That is only the rooftop bar of the human agenda, and while I am not reprimanding the rich strictly for being rich, as what they have done is worked harder than I, but constructing such a grand hotel can only mean more floors. Yes, indeed, there are exceptions to this rule, but exceptions to a rule do not assemble a pattern, for they are only but exceptions. This, also, does not mean that the floors of a grand hotel are not beautiful in and of themselves. Is it not beautiful that a rich man wishes to become rich to provide for his children a better life than he was granted by his parents, but that it is still, indeed, a floor? Does that not have a sense of bitterness to it, albeit productive? They allow smoking in the most excellent hotels in Las Vegas, you know.. Does a rich man not wish to flaunt his riches, in an effort to attract the most attractive, but is this not a floor just as well? Why does one feel the need? Is it not because without such attention one would feel still alone, that he has become rich for nothing, and is this not a floor?
Well, reader, all things considered, where shall we start? In the parking garage!? Certainly not! Should it be so that we inform another of the deepest, darkest motives of the hidden human agenda in an interaction’s inception? Why, one would not be to blame if they were to engage in a dead-sprint away from me if I were to do that! Ah, but am I to only divulge the truth from behind a keyboard where it is safe? How else am I to construct a beautiful “hotel,” with only a lobby and nothing else, with no means to an end, just an end, a sort of “what you see is what you get” structure, which, by the way, is only something people say in the form of showboating, if I do not exercise the truth in a practical sense? I shall let them run, I shall! For they are only running from the truth, whereas I am not! If I can switch my tone to a storytelling one: “The author breathed a deep, depressing sigh.” I am now only grandstanding myself, the same type of grandstanding that I just buried not seconds ago. Never would I dare disclose the truth in its entirety; however, it would be something if one of us had the stones, would it not? Perhaps, reader, this is all by design, and the only One who is to know of the truth about the hidden human agenda is nobody but God Himself.
This suggestion that God Himself is the only One to know, or at least a select person or people that one has unequivocal trust in, of what dwells in the “parking garage,” is only put forth because, quite obviously (and this is especially true of the society that we find ourselves in today), anyone would be ostracized from said society if society was to know, regardless of any productivity one would have to offer despite the parking garage of his agenda. Should this, in turn, eliminate the practice of radical honesty entirely, but is radical honesty not the method, because it may not be, in which one would remove floors from the Agenda Hotel, cultivating a character that is only an end without means? As far as I can tell, the following questions are in play regarding the hidden human agenda: Should the goal of man be to remove as many floors as possible? If so, is radical honesty the way to do that? If so, does radical honesty, in the end, as in the beginning it surely does not, improve one’s relationships with others, and does it push society forward instead of backward? If, for example, a married man was to practice radical honesty at all times, for radical honesty is not radical honesty if it is only practiced sometimes, telling any woman that he wants to sleep with that he does want to sleep with them, if indeed he does, he would then be under an obligation to inform his wife of such matters, as radical honesty would not be in practice if he were not to. Is the man’s marriage not in jeopardy? Certainly, it is, reader, but is this not the removal of floors from the Agenda Hotel, which could be the goal of man!? I am inclined to declare that radical honesty should be practiced; however, if I were to say that, I would in turn need to have the fortitude or the stones required to practice it, and at this present time I do not, as sometimes I am a pussy; other times, I am not.
3
Can you simply choose to believe in something, reader, or is belief something that, against our will, through experience, just happens? Do we have a say in the matter? Are our beliefs not determined by events or interactions that we cannot predict – that we have no control over? Let me not carry on making a case for only one, as it appears that a reader or listener can become fixated on whatever the latter is, whatever it was that was presented last. One can, absolutely, decide to believe in whatever they please, and it is seemingly evident that one could will that belief into existence. For example, the decision to believe that oneself is a loser, or a winner, if told to themselves enough times by either oneself or another, will undoubtedly come to pass. This is so, reader, as I do not see a plausible argument to the contrary; however, it is also so, using the above example specifically, that one’s chosen belief could be true or untrue, as the belief is developed by self-manufactured evidence, which is permanently subject to change. With the impermanence of manufactured evidence contributing to a manufactured belief, presumably understood and agreed upon, are we not on a collision course with the experience of life eventually challenging these beliefs, and does this not mean that in order for a belief to become concrete, if it could ever be, that it must come by way of experience? This, of course, brings the human agenda, accompanied by perception and manipulation into play, for will I not bend reality and shape an event so that it may fit my chosen belief? I, or we, most certainly will, but we are still left with the unanswered question of whether it is truth or untruth, for is this manipulation not something which we are conscious of, or are we truly unaware of our willingness to contort the fabric of being to our favor?
Whatever the case may be, whether belief is product of experience or not, it is true that a chosen belief can otherwise be stated as merely an idea, which is the only thing that can be believed in – an idea. We have often heard the phrase, “faith is believing in something without evidence,” with the ones who utter it parading it in the face of believers as if it is some sort of “gotcha moment,” all the while without the understanding that it is impossible to believe in something with evidence. Here is the soundbite if you want one: There is no such thing as belief in something with evidence. For example, what exactly is it that humans have done upon hearing of the moon landing? “Why haven’t we been back since?” they ask! Evidence only presents more ideas, which only means more belief, running humans in an endless circle. Of course, there are those who believe in the moon landing outright, and it must be said that they may, perhaps even most likely, are correct in their belief, but is it not true that they are taking the word of another – the same criteria one uses to criticize a believer of religion? If you will allow me to provide an example of lesser magnitude, because I do not want WordPress to receive emails calling WYSB a conspiracy blog, which by the by, you should know that I did not make a personal case either way, but let us take the example of the fanatic of a sports team. The sports fan believes that his team will win; maybe he believes that they will lose, as is my case more often than not, using the team’s performance in previous games as evidence as to why they will win or lose. At the game’s conclusion, evidence has been provided, either confirming or denying their belief, but what has happened other than the presentation of a new belief or idea, that they may win or lose the next game?
I had never believed in the idea of love-at-first-sight. All logic and reason would point to this idea being one of gullibility, wishful thinking, or hopeless romanticism, as one would point out the obvious that there could be no true love for someone whom we know not a thing about. Fair enough. However, the only thing that matters in an idea’s inception is that there is, indeed, an idea. It matters not if the idea of love-at-first-sight is real or not real, for since there is such a notion either way, it can now be challenged by life itself, as our notions always will be. There had not yet been an experience that brought me face-to-face with my idea. Nadeja, from The Ocean Blue’s of Nadeja, was inspired by a woman I have met only twice, and whom perhaps, I shall never meet again. Still, the interaction was significant enough for my chosen disbelief of love-at-first-sight to be challenged. Her eyes gripped me upon first glance. She must have thought I was a creep! There is not a time that I can remember where I had approached somebody, straight away, in a sort of “have-to-have-her” fashion. Typically, I drift into Neverland, a dream world, calculating my every move, my every word, before daring to make conversation with someone. Although nothing came of our short span “together” due to me being sometimes a pussy; and at other times, not one, her purpose in my life had been served as far as I was concerned, no matter if she felt there was a purpose as well. Disbelief in love-at-first-sight had been challenged. One may, understandably, conclude that evidence had been provided that it is not real, considering that nothing manifested between the two of us, but even if it were true that the evidence proved love-at-first-sight false, it is only because of that reason that the idea is still very much alive. Why, that is the most magical thing about ideas! They are immortal! Ideas can never die. It is because of this unique, even failed experience, that I see the very real possibility of love-at-first-sight in anybody I lock eyes with. Lord, please do not let the real-life Nadeja read this as she may phone the police. Fuck it. Her name is Becklassandra. Now, there can be no discrepancy unless, of course, you have an idea that it is you, which in that case, it shall never die.
A no-no in the writing world, as I am about to break the “fourth wall,” but I have just completed writing The Ocean-Blue’s of Nadeja: Night 3. It has been in my mind that there will be four nights, making the upcoming writing of night four the finale of the story of Zigmund and Nadeja. The fourth night of Zigmund and Nadeja can go several different directions, depending on my worldview, which is interesting, as I’m not quite sure what that is yet. From my experience, judging from the behavior that I have seen humans partake in, what would happen is that neither party shows up for the fourth night. It is difficult to get a grip on how to approach night four. I want to write the truth about what I have seen. However, neither of them showing would surely be an anti-climactic ending to the story, albeit, what I believe would happen, and I did not sit behind a keyboard to disguise the truth, reader. The second scenario is Zigmund, which, fine, to some degree is myself (although I want to stress that he is only myself to some degree), shows up but Nadeja does not, offended that the opportunity for something great was missed out on due to a distraction, or contextually, an old idea. Finally, the third scenario is one in which Nadeja appears, but Zigmund does not. Originally, I felt that this would be the case most rare, but it is, unfortunately, very high in likelihood that Zigmund would descend into old ideas. In any case, as it stands, the purpose of Zigmund and Nadeja’s interaction with each other has been served as they are both left with ideas of what could be, or at least what could have been; and it is because they have these ideas that the game of life continues, for if they were bereft of ideas, they would be “dead,” so to speak, at least in the context of their personal interaction. Whatever happens in the fourth night, going forward, any woman Zigmund encounters, or vice versa, any man Nadeja encounters, the encounter contains within it the idea of the other.
If you will allow me to digress for just a moment, I am taking issue with my previously written idea, the one suggesting that “ideas never die!” Is this true, reader? I have given consideration to scraping that excerpt entirely, but is this not The Mind from a Small Room? Is this not, in some ways, a journey into how the mind operates? Since that is what I thought, at least initially, it shall stay. Let us attempt to make the case that ideas do, indeed, die. When an idea is no longer actively pursued, is it dead? Allow me to use another sports-oriented example. A few years ago, I was in active pursuit of generating traction for a podcast or blog of my favorite sports team. After some time, the desired amount of traction was not manifesting itself, possibly- probably rather, because true, one-hundred percent commitment to the project was not put forth and I stopped pursuing it. It is extremely probable that I will never attempt to put that idea in motion again. This being the case, the question becomes, again, is that idea now dead? Understandably, one may declare it dead, for if it once was, is now not, and shall never be again, is this not death? A stronger example might be a woman who was previously in a relationship for X number of years, who now finds herself in a new relationship. Picture this woman out with her friends, one of her friends bringing up the relationship of old, and the woman greets this presentation with a roll of the eyes. An eye-roll, by the way, is definitely symbolic of something being “over,” or you could say, of death. Well, then, is this not death? They once were, they are now not, and they shall never be again. However, what exactly were to happen, if say, the man she is in a new relationship with engages in behavior that is representative of the way her ex-boyfriend behaved? Does at least not the idea of the ex live on!? How about every time I watch my favorite sports team play? Do I not think, if even for a fleeting moment, knowing what I know now, that I could resurrect the old idea, and does this not mean it lives on!? After all, if you were to google “The Wet Island Los Angeles Kings,” somewhere out there, the idea does, in fact, still live. Of course, reader, we must factor in the human agenda, as it is possible that I am manipulating examples in a fashion where I cannot be wrong; however, right now, it is my idea, which cannot die. Feel free to try and kill it.
4
Now, finally, we have come to the main event: The idea of God. If we agree upon what has been put forth so far, notably that ideas can only become beliefs through experience, does it matter what one’s idea of God is beforehand, whether it be that He exists or does not? Perhaps, the reader is taking issue with thinking of me as an intellectual, scoffing at the ideas presented in The Mind from a Small Room, as I am only two years removed from popping a bottle open in the wee hours of the morning, who now suddenly thinks he has something to offer. This, I understand, so let us substitute Immanuel Kant in place of myself. “Experience without theory is blind, but theory without experience is mere intellectual play.”
All across the globe people congregate in churches, monasteries, or whatever religious institution, claiming belief, or knowledge rather, in a supreme being of their choosing. Ha- “choosing.” Is it true that they have chosen whom or what they claim belief, or is it more true that they were destined to claim belief in that someone or something due to whatever culture it was that they, arbitrarily, grew up? Choosing a belief is only the choice of which challenge we would like to take on. In any case, who am I to say that they do not know? Maybe they, indeed, have had the necessary experience required to claim belief. While I will readily concede that I have less life experience than the average person, although I have gained more recently than ever, what do they ‘know’ that I do not, or better yet, do I finally know what they claim to know? I understand why they do it, that is, why they claim they know. A belief is hardly a belief if one only half-heartedly believes, for that is no belief at all, but rather a simple notion, and what exactly is at stake with a notion? Ultimately, nothing. You can carry with you any notion you please as there is barely any risk involved, but a belief- Well, your life is on the line with a true belief! Another soundbite, if you will: “Belief is betting your entire pot based upon your experience.” The people claiming belief are essentially claiming that they have had some type of life-altering experience, for if they have not yet had that, they are simply attempting to convince themselves that they do, in fact, believe. This, of course, will inevitably be challenged, as the people who genuinely believe have already been challenged. I propose that there are two things in play when people discuss the idea of God before experience, 1) I have not yet had an experience that has challenged my disbelief in God, or 2) I have not yet had an experience that has challenged my belief in God.
The question then, I suppose, becomes what happens with belief after experience? If, after experience, one has knowledge, would not the “game” be over, reader? Whoever knows that there is God, or knows there is no God, has thereby discovered what we are all seeking to uncover; still, the game of life continues. Taking God as not an idea but as an absolute, surely means that the other guy exists, too (a lengthy sidebar: It was recommended that I read The Imp of the Mind, which tackles obsessive-compulsive behavior and intrusive thought. In that book, what it suggests to do in combating a fear, is to write that fear out explicitly. With regard to myself, my biggest fear was, indeed, ‘the other guy,’ and in an effort to demonstrate my now lack of fear, allow me to write out his name: Satan. By the way, reader, this fear remained in me during a time in which I did not “believe.” However, does this fear not mean that I did not wholly disbelieve? Surely, that fear only meant that I was afraid of belief itself. Another way of putting it might be that my disbelief was being challenged, not by Satan, but by God, using him as the challenge. The mastery of God, or if you prefer, of life, you could say.) and would not his (Satan’s) job, so to speak, be to challenge your newfound, alleged, concrete belief? Yes, reader, it does appear that the game never ends – that is, until it does.
Should God not be approached “in the beginning” as an idea, the same way that one would approach the idea of love-at-first-sight? If we agree that we shall approach God as an ideal, how would one concoct an idea of God? What do we think of when we think of God? Do we not think of a perfect being? A value, perhaps? The highest value? The idea of God is something like the highest value which we could possibly conceive. Anyway, I rejected the idea of love-at-first-sight outright, had an experience, and now believe in the possibility. What is interesting about that is, although I believe in the possibility, I understand that it may never manifest itself. Interesting, I think, as I saw only the resemblance of love-at-first-sight, not the reality of it, but the resemblance was enough to believe that it is real. It is because of the approach to love-at-first-sight as an idea first, not as an absolute first, that the possibility of it being absolute is reality. Is this not how it might work, perhaps for some but not all, with the idea of God, even if one’s idea is that He does not exist? If the approach to God is simply an idea that He does not exist, but something extraordinary were to occur, does this not, in turn, because it is only an idea, allow for the possibility to attribute that extraordinary occurrence to the idea of God? What we have left, as far as I can tell, is one who had the idea of God, went through the inevitable challenge of that idea, and used that experience to determine that there is no God. In this case, we must judge the person’s behavior, for if they have not descended into poor behavior, what exactly is happening? We might wonder what it is that is keeping them from acting on every impulse, from not treating people whom they do not like with disrespect, among a plethora of other destructive lines of thinking. They might say, “well, because I beli-” Stop right there, reader. You *believe* in what, exactly? Is the answer to this not the highest value, the highest good, and did we not define that as precisely the idea of God? It does appear, reader, that even the idea of no God leads to God; however, we must discover where this inherent belief in the good comes from, as some will assure you that it is not God.
A common trope from non-believers is “having a problem with organized religion.” While I understand this ‘problem,’ it is not precisely defined. What is meant whenever this trope is trotted out is that one has a problem with organized religion, strictly in its current conception. Who has “organized” religion? Is it not us? Humans? The trope becomes blatantly obvious: We have a problem with the way human beings have interpreted the message. No shit! Of course, human beings have a problem with human beings! It is a most important distinction to make between religion in its original inception and religion in its modern conception. Nietzsche is quoted as saying, “In truth, there was only one Christian, and he died on the cross.” Christians, obviously, will shriek at a quote like that but there is something to it, obviously; otherwise, one of the greatest intellectuals the world has ever seen would not have uttered it. What I believe that to mean is, well, we cannot put a whole lot of stock into humans. If we are outsiders looking in, so to speak, judging Christians by their behavior, or worse, if we were inside the mind of Christians, we might conclude that being a “Christian” is no way to be; however, the probability that humans are acting out Christianity’s original message, the message of Jesus Christ himself, is virtually zero. If you must know, personally, I only align myself with Christianity if you need a label for it. Apart from that, I only attempt to concern myself with the original message of Jesus and the Bible itself. Anything other than that is an ill-advised, misinterpreted message, generally speaking. Certainly, there are pastors that do a fantastic job of delivering sermons; and of course, others that do a horrendous job. Such as life. Also, as the kids say, the same energy has been applied to my study of “Buddhism,” which is no religion at all. I only tried to concern myself with Gautama Siddhartha and his message. Let us travel back in time, reader. Perhaps, this is all hypothetical but hop into the DeLorean with me anyway. The inception of ‘Christianity’ starts with one: Jesus. Jesus preaches a perfect message to twelve. It is now the job of the twelve to carry the message to twenty-four. From there, twenty-four take it to forty-eight. Forty-eight take it to ninety-six, and so on and so forth. The likelihood that the original, perfect message is properly translated by humans to the next set of humans is negligible. We made it to ninety-six here, but there are now eight billion people in the world. Who is to believe that eight billion people have properly translated the original message(s)? Religion is not the problem, not the origin of it anyway, but *we* are the problem, are we not?
With that, I have reached the end of the Mind from a Small Room series. What I hope, surprisingly enough, is that I have not convinced you of anything. If I happened to have done so, please do away with whatever it is. Something sort of strange has happened as I’ve made my way through this series. This last part, in particular, was actually quite painful – a real struggle to get through. A couple of theories spring to mind as to why that might be. It appears as though that practically all my deepest thoughts are now on ‘paper,’ if you will, and now that I can see them, a gut-wrenching realization has made itself known – the realization that I haven’t a clue what I think, what my worldview is, or what I truly believe. It also could be that I’ve reached a sort of peak, intellectually and creatively, and lack the capacity to top some of the other pieces I’ve written. That happens, you know? I’m not putting myself over. 50 Cent put out Get Rich or Die Tryin’ and never came up with a better project than that. I hope that analogy plays. If it doesn’t, let’s put it this way: the sequels to movies are rarely better than the first one. The third and final theory is that the moth cannot reach the light for long. If the moth gets too close, for too long, it will burn its wings. Don’t fly too close to the sun, Icarus. That might be what happened, I don’t know, but it feels as though my brain has sort of short-circuited. In the end, what I am saying is that I’ll stick to what I know, which is nothing beyond my personal experience. Alas, that is what wysb.me *is* anyway. Stay the course, trust in God, even if you have to perceive God as an idea, and keep coming back.
The Mind from a Small Room.
I think I agree with you but I am a poet with a short attention, which I why write poetry and not novels or lengthy commentary such as yours..we, who are compelled to write…write..short or long ….good for you to be able to collect your thoughts and put it all out there..wish I was a more patient person and could have read and absorbed more..I do relate to being non confrontational..
As soon as voices are raised, I excuse myself..this time of political confrontation has made me run far…and just disconnect from wherever controversy resides..in humanity or in printed words..
Very good insight, Miss Barbara. I’m not sure that disconnecting from the World today is such a bad thing, at least insofar as catering to the aspects of our lives that truly matter. God and family most notably.