Lighting The Candle and Burning The House

            It surprises me that there were people like Thomas Paine over two hundred years ago. I’m not surprised that people like him could exist. Rather, I’m surprised that if people like him, who have so articulately and thoroughly disarmed the intellectual violence of Christianity, have existed for so long, that we still have Christian blood pumping through our veins. The demise of Christianity is long overdue.

Throughout much of his writing, Paine uses a concise phrase to flatline the socio-normative way of considering religion. Paine says something along the lines of: “It is not incumbent on me to disprove Christian beliefs.” Paine believes that it is not “Christian God until proven otherwise,” but rather “Deism until proven otherwise.” I disagree with Paine that Deism is the most natural belief (instead of Atheism; the idea of any god is still fantastical), but nonetheless, I agree with him on who holds the burden of proof in considering the possibilities of Christianity. The burden of proof lies with the professor of ideas as miraculous as those in The Bible.

Even the most fundamental of religious zealots must admit that the stories of The Bible are, to us, things of fantasy. More importantly—because theoretically, bizarre stories are not necessarily untrue—none of us have ever witnessed these events. Nor did our parents or their grandparents or their grandparents’ grandparents’ grandparents’ grandparents. We have convinced ourselves that some of the most absurd stories to have been put on paper are factual on the basis of nothing more than centuries of hearsay. Maybe famed lawyer Clarence Darrow puts it best in saying, “I do not believe in God because I do not believe in Mother Goose.”

So why is it that we still believe…or really, ever believed? If we are to agree that preachers of Christianity have the burden of proof and that other than the miraculous hearsay of The Bible they have no proof, we must surely also agree that we should have no Christianity (at this point, let me clarify that my pointed dissonance extends to all forms of theism, not just the Christian adaptation). Yet, our nation is still predominantly Christian. Yet, all across the world, people continue to worship the “words” of a tyrannical God, so irresponsible in his own power that he would create a people, only to obliterate them over and over again; so insecure that he would order his most faithful follower to slaughter his own child, just to make sure that his love for God was supreme (even though God, being omnipotent, would have known the answer); so abusive that he would create a Hell for those infidels who doubt the eccentric hearsay of power-hungry religious leaders. Our nation still wholeheartedly subscribes to a religion that would in the same chapter condemn the hunger for knowledge (Eve and the forbidden apple), while saving those who offer their virgin daughters to be raped by a mob (Lot). We still adulate a religion and a God which are so morally discombobulated and lazy to stand idly by as billions of people through history have been maimed, tortured, ostracized, raped, assassinated, flayed, enslaved, and murdered in their name.

In one of his later chapters, Paine refers to a dark room, abound with furniture. He uses this room as an analogy to explain how although the rules of the universe are often imperceptible, they still exist nonetheless. We just need to light the candle of reason and science, and then we will be able to discover the truths of our universe, he says. I like the analogy, but it seems to me that it would be better fit to explain how we ought to expose the perilous fantasies of The Bible. But has Paine not lit this candle? Have we not been permitted to see through the patent falsehoods, contradictions, fantasies, calls to violence and bigotry and slavery and rape, demands to worship a sociopathic tyrant for centuries now? As we let this candle dwindle away, we come dangerously closer to extinguishing the light altogether.

            

These Two Theist Texts Take a Tango

The Daodejing of Laozi and Genesis offer two approaches to understanding our origins and our purpose. By the virtue of their very titles, they attempt to explain the way we came to exist (our genesis) and the way (dao) in which we should live. In a very basic sense, the two forms of spirituality have highly divergent approaches to spiritual questions. Specifically, these two practices have different answers on the importance of distinctions. These books also employ two totally different methods for explaining themselves within the text.

Daoism explains life in four words: go with the flow. The point of Daoism is to transcend superficial human desires to fall in with the natural flow of life. One would have to clear their mind of all their excess thoughts, just lying down in the river of narcotic cognitive non-existence, understanding that whether it be a beach or a waterfall, the way of the river is the best way. It is not about striving to attain the dao, but about dropping the baggage of unhealthy desires and thoughts. This text refers vaguely to a spiritual overseer, but is in no way a central focus of their practice—their spirituality is the flow of nature that transcends all else.

On the other hand, Abrahamic religions take an approach that is almost opposite of this. Genesis identifies a distinct creator and overlord. God is personified: he is able to speak and interact with humans, he can interfere with the world, he has human needs, and he even has emotions. Unlike Daoism, there is codified a set of commandments for humanity to follow; it is not as simple as absolving yourself of all desire. In fact, God would surely emphasize that there are a number of desires that are important to living a good life: a desire to be obedient (Abraham sacrificing his son), a desire to help others hindered by nature (Joseph feeding the famished Egyptians), or a desire to live long (all of the holy characters are said to have lived unnaturally long lives).

            Another strong divergence comes with how the two sects treat perceptive distinctions. Daoism adamantly argues that distinctions lead to value-dichotomies, thus distinguishing something as superior can only be supported by the inferior counterpart. One woman is only beautiful because there is another that is ugly. The text describes explains this through several examples that make clear that one distinction can only exist because of its counterpart: “To have and to lack generate each other. Difficult and easy give form to each other. Long and short off-set each other.”

            On the other hand, Genesis shows God not just recognizing, but creating a number of these distinctions. In fact, God was so confident it only took him one day to decide on the importance of these dichotomies. On the first day: “And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness.” Not just does he distinguish light from dark, but God decides to take this shenanigans to the next level. During his creation of the humanity, he decides to “…[let the humans] ‘have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the air and over every living things that moves upon the earth.’” This is radical, considering Daoism clearly emphasizes that humans are just one of many things upon things—no more or less important than anything else on the planet.

            It may be of some significance to also point out the very different ways in which these two texts advance their philosophies. The Deodejing of Laozi uses very concise philosophical statements, in a sort of poetic format. The stories never reference any specific stories or character, nor do they cite examples. In its boldest, the text will refer to an idealistic sage who is an example of one who has found the dao. Genesis takes a very different approach. The authors strongly personify God and illustrate a cohesive story of humanity’s existence since the beginning of time. This story uses specific characters and events to exemplify rights and wrongs.

            These two texts represent very different approaches to spiritual questions of life. This is reflected in their general philosophical approaches to what kind of things we should do or transcend to live a good life. Additionally, these two texts both make clear but wholly contrasting arguments for the value of distinctions and value-dichotomies. They also provide very different narratives; Daoism is explained through a very universal but concise argument, while Genesis explains itself through a heavy focus on anecdotes and continued characters. While not totally irreconcilable, these two spiritual guides offer distinct and different answers to our most difficult questions.

The Issue of the Twenty-First Century is the Issue of the Color-Line

            In 1903, W.E.B Du Bois wrote: “It is usually possible to draw in nearly every Southern community a physical color-line on the map, on the one side of which whites dwell and on the other Negroes.” Douglas Massey and Nancy Denton, two sociologists and the authors of American Apartheid, found that this seemed to literally be the case. Using a Segregation Index test, they found that around 80% of Blacks in places like Detroit, New York, and Chicago would have to move from their neighborhoods to be living like Whites. This study was done in 1993. In Of the Quest of the Golden Fleece, Du Bois argues that economic segregation continued long after the Emancipation of slaves. His words ring just as true now as ever.

Du Bois explains the viscous cycle of impoverishment. A slave is freed but has nothing in his possession. Yet, one is naturally compelled by the most urgently natural of needs. A freedman needs food and shelter, and in some cases, he needs enough to support whatever shambles of a family enslavement has not yet robbed from him. He is forced to rent land, borrow clothes, and buy seed with loans. He is subjugated to the inescapable cycle of working dawn to dusk to pay off what he has borrowed to work to pay off what he has borrowed to work to pay off what he has borrowed. Du Bois says that “…the majority of tenants end the year even, or in debt, which means that they work for board and clothes.”

This continued indebtedness to the white man creates a system of economic segregation. The moneyed whites get wealthier on the interest and the zero-sum black men work to live. Without civil equality, there are no outs from the cycle. This is the color-line that Du Bois speaks of throughout his persuasive essay. Despite the end of formal slavery, freed blacks were still compelled to work to survive. Whether by whip or by economic need, blacks were still subjugated to miserable and largely inescapable working conditions.

This makes a strong argument for many of our contemporary affirmative action-type programs. Yet, this has not even been enough. Today, the working class works paycheck to paycheck, suffering the plight of need-based labor. And the working class (as well as the unemployed class) consists of a disproportionate amount of blacks. Unless one is too suggest that blacks have a biological disability to work as well as whites, it must be accepted that the effects of slavery still linger today. Blacks have not yet been able to dig themselves out of the generations’ of indebtedness and despair. Today, the average white household is worth over $113,000. The average black family, $8650

The color-line is still alive and well in the twenty-first century. The notion that Du Bois’ critiques have so far outlived his lifetime is what makes this book my most enjoyed read of the semester thus far. And not to be mistaken, the burden is as much on the whites as anybody to right this wrong, yet with decades we have failed to make sufficient strides towards true equality. In fact, it is fearful that with the advent of visible color-line crossing (like the election of Barack Obama) that we may convince ourselves that this exists no longer. Yet, as Du Bois so persuasively argues, the South was fatally mistaken to believe that blacks’ position was adequate because of the end of slavery. In the same spirit, we must not deceive ourselves to believe that the problem of the twenty-first century is anything but that of obliterating the color-line.

A Democratic Refusal To Vote

Several months ago I took an online quiz about which candidate I most truly agreed with on the important issues. Before this, I was also sure and determined to finally use my first chance to participate in an election to vote for Barack Obama. Yet, as silly as it sounds, this quiz has changed my whole perspective of democratic representation in the United States. It said that I sided only 67% with Barack Obama and to put it in perspective, he surely has my vote over Mitt Romney—who I only found common ground with on 13% of the issues. My concerns arose when it said that my views were 90% in line with Jill Stein.

This got me thinking: why shouldn't I be voting for the candidate I agree with most? It took a while, but then I decided I would vote third-party—I wanted to use my vote to most fully express my democratic views. If I voted for Barack Obama this election, I would only be speaking to our democracy at 2/3 volume. I wanted my voice to be heard.

This lasted for a couple weeks until I was overcome by a feeling of dread. Am I really participating in our democracy and the future of my country? Sure, I’m casting my vote with the candidate I most strongly agree with…but there is no chance Ms. Stein will ever win. Last year the sum of the whole third-party option received one-percent of the nation’s vote. Am I really using my voice, if I’m just yelling into an empty room? So I decided that I would not vote as a protest to a democracy that robs me of my political expression through voting.

Yet, I thought, am I just being a sore loser? My third-party of choice isn’t popular and stands no chance of winning because they simply are not attractive enough to the American majority. That certainly would be the case, if I didn’t believe that our two-party monopoly both systematically and actively works to oppress the third-party vote.

Systematic disenfranchisement; the inescapable visibility and presence of the two parties deter the attention given to the third-party options. Third-party candidates are not invited to debates, they are but rarely interviewed by the mainstream media and they receive no front page coverage. When Ron Paul ran for President in 1988 he garnered less than 1% of the vote as the Libertarian Party candidate. If you can’t beat them, join them, right? This year he ran as a candidate for the Republican Party, and received over 20% of the vote in the Ohio Primary. This is but just one prime example of the system that empowers the two-party stranglehold over the information given to voters about other candidates’ views. A system that produces substantially different voting results for the same candidate with the same views, only because he is running for a mainstream party is a system that disenfranchises the third-party potential.

Active disenfranchisement; the dominant political class works to obstruct the potential of the third-party candidates to ensure their entrenched power. The only thing a Republican candidate hates more than a Democratic candidate is the idea of having to expend the resources to combat a second legitimate opponent. If there is one thing that the two parties can surely agree upon, it is to make sure that the voting base stays allied only with them; to make sure that the far-left wingers feel hopeless in voting for the Green party (or any other more aligned leftist third-party) and that the far-right wingers feel hopeless in voting for the Libertarian party (or any other more aligned conservative third-party). See: the widespread blame of Ralph Nader for Gore’s loss in 2000. Just imagine the horror—American people voting for somebody more in line with their views.

There are two important elements to this argument. We have established thus far that we have a democratic system in which subscribing to one of the two parties is our only legitimate choice. This seems to be a commonly accepted notion in American politics—you either vote Republican or Democrat. The question then becomes: Is this enough? Can a two-party system ever really represent our political views? Absolutely not.

We must surely understand that any one political view cannot exist on a two-choice scale. Gun control, for example, includes a wide spectrum of opinions on how to deal with gun possession and sales in America. In another instance, views on abortion exist in at least three major forms: Pro-choice, pro-life with an exception for rape and incest, and pro-life in all circumstances. I won’t try to pretend like I could articulate the dozens of approaches to stabilizing our economy, but there is inarguably a wide spectrum of them.

In essence, any single issue that may be considered in a parties’ political platform does not exist in black and white terms, but has a number of approaches. When we multiply this by the dozens of important issues that a platform considers, there is just no way two parties can appropriately embody America’s diverse political views. Our opinions on complex matters like gun control, abortion, or fiscal policy cannot be expressed on a binary scale, so why should our democracy?

To give more insight, let me propose a similar scenario: the uneducated voter. Why exactly is it that we become so frustrated when a voter participates but is not engaged? Say he goes to the voting booth knowing just a bit about the candidate. And then he goes into polling place and casts his vote, and when we—the general public, naturally concerned with pure participation in the election—chastise and become frustrated with such a man. But why? The system we have now requires us to know little more about the candidates than whether we are slightly on the left or right. The complexities of political opinion have been boiled down to a two-prong choice and this uneducated voter has not been required to strive to learn about the candidates or make any attempt at political introspection. This man does exactly what the system wants: vote on your basic instinct; on your friends and your family; on the most rudimentary of self-expressions. If you think that this type of person is a sham and lazy, you’re misdirecting your anger—it’s the system that’s a sham. He may have lazy political opinions, but that’s all a two-choice system requires of its voters to be represented. When he’s voted he has expressed his views as totally as you or I.

But it doesn’t stop there; it can become worse than non-representation and turn actually into misrepresentation. What happens when I would like to vote on the side of conservative social issues, but I find myself agreeing with liberal economic policy? Who do I vote for then? If the social issues are but a bit more important, I find myself voting Republican but nearly half of my vote is not just thrown away (as in the case of non-representation), but it is actually robbed and skewered. Now I am forced to spend the next four years supporting a President who has misrepresented my feelings on economic matters in every single way. Surely we are to agree that such a system is the literal opposite of democratic representation.

Has a democracy been created because now we have just one other choice? The mere addition of a second choice is not a satisfactory solution to the problem of an executive monarchy. The realities of political stances are more complex than black and white issues and a system that forces us to express them as such is little more than an illusory democracy.

The argument has been laid out as such: The power-wielding Republicans and Democrats systematically and actively disenfranchise the third-party potential, thus we only have two legitimate voting options. Opinions do not exist on a binary scale; rather a deeply complex spectrum of gray, and as such a two-party democracy under-expresses and sometimes even misrepresents the interests of our voters.

And in that case, I refuse to legitimize a system that disenfranchises the political expressions of myself and millions of others. If I vote, I am participating in a system that actively works against my own democratic interests. For me to participate would be for me to suggest that our current democratic method is appropriately representing my views, but if you have agreed with the argument above, you would agree this certainly is not the case. So why would I do anything but refuse to participate? And come Election Day, I’ll be as engaged as anybody in shaping the future of our country. Just like everybody else, I’ll be using my ballot to express the change I want to see in our country—the end of the oppressive two-party monopoly.

Socrates on Blind Nationalism

           There is something that has been troubling my mind about Socrates and his seemingly advanced thinking. In Plato’s Crito, Socrates suggests that he has an obligation to live out his sentence because he has somehow contractually agreed to the rules of Athens. He suggests that continued residency is an implicit agreement to submit yourself fully to their governance. Hence, he says, when he is punished he has no right to try to escape, because he has lived his whole life knowing of the laws which now punish him to death. For as smart as I take Socrates to be, I’m incredibly disappointed by his counterrevolutionary support of oppressively blind nationalism.

            For starters, how exactly is one to ever forward enlightened change without breaking the rules of an intellectually suppressive society? Socrates was sentenced to death because he had the audacity to question the theocratic status-quo, but if one is to follow Socrates’ moral model, this status-quo could never be broken. The argument form lends itself to the following scenario: one wants to enact unorthodox change in Athens, so one must live in Athens, so one must contract to the practices and punishments of Athens, and so one must accept death or exile when they are found spreading revolutionary ideas. It is clear how problematic this is—by advancing a contrarian idea they have accepted death; or conversely, if you wish not to die you must necessarily accept the perpetuation of an intellectual dark age. In the fashion that Socrates himself is so admirable of, I would question him: how exactly is society ever supposed to reform when death is a necessary premise of promoting change?

            It is clear that such an approach goes directly against progressing the enlightenment that Socrates himself so proudly espouses, but is this approach even true? Is it the case that from continued residency we have implicitly agreed with our nation’s rules? Certainly this cannot be the case; residency depends on a number of factors and while a moneyed and privileged aristocrat like Socrates may suggest that the solution to such a disagreement is as simple as moving, many people simply do not have the means—nor is it necessary. It is critical to distinguish that although one has accepted the laws of a country, they have in absolutely no way accepted that such laws are just or fairly imposed. Although the opposite is surely appealing to the dominant class, if one is unjustly oppressed by their government they have no obligation to leave the country and drop the issue. At the very least, internal revolution through peaceful means is a legitimate way to push for laws that reflect justice. In class we discussed Martin Luther King, who I think very persuasively argued that it is surely moral to resist unjust laws—in his case, formal segregation; for Socrates, the suppression of his speech. In the end, it seems that if the government is really interested in their people, such discourse and revolution can only be good for the country. And if their people are not their foremost interest, well then the country should be force to collapse from the inside and blind nationalism like Socrates’ is doing nothing but helping cool the pressure.

            With all of this being said, it seems more likely that Socrates chose death for the reasons explained in Xenophon’s Socrates’ Defense To The Jury. Socrates has neared the end of his life and quite rationally, he would like to end on a high note. He is confident that he has lived piously and that this in fact may be the preferable out: “…god, in his kindness, is letting me leave life not only at the right time, but also in the easiest way.” (Reeve, 179) It is my hope and belief that this is the more accurate account of Socrates’s embrace of the death penalty. He accepted his penalty because it was what was best for him, rather than to suggest it was what he must do for Athens.

            In two different parts, Plato and Xenophon offer very different accounts for why Socrates chose death. Plato suggests that it was because Socrates believed his residency contracted his unwavering obedience to Athenian punishment. On the other hand, Xenophon reports that Socrates found the death sentence to be a convenient out of a life he could not imagine getting much better.  If it is for the former reason, Socrates has certainly proposed a very anti-enlightenment argument—in no logical form should death be a necessary premise of social change.

Spanglish

            Throughout the readings, I actually found the “Spanglish” elements of Gloria Anzaldua’s writings to be one of the most beautiful parts of the whole work. Throughout the piece, her main thesis is to attain a new type of culture: The New Mestiza. She describes this as a reinvigoration of the old culture, which migrated between two lands which are now separated by a border. Although I can’t read Spanish, I thought the small amount of confusion was well-worth it when considering its literary value. By employing a language that makes use of both English and Spanish, she rejects the xenophobia of both cultures, reflects the culture in which it was produced, and fends off what she calls linguistic violence.

            On the most basic level, she uses a mixture of Spanish and English words to reject cultural exclusiveness. She spends a large amount of time in the book chastising white culture for imposing their language onto Chicanos, but she is just as critical of the sometimes narrow-minded Chicano culture. She says that as a New Mestiza, she is a part of every race; for her identity transcends racial borders and can be found in elements of every culture. The book begins by describing the physical border between Texas and Mexico as bleeding the earth and goes on to say that because of her ethnicity, sexuality, and gender, she feels like she cannot belong in one place. Again, her identity is more substantial than oppressive racial categorization and she rejects the exclusivity of either culture by writing in a language that reflects both.

The use of a mixed language is also a serious reflection of the type of culture Anzaldua wrote it in. It reflects the ambiguity and double-consciousness of the borderlands culture in a way that is critical to the book. To make it clearer, the value of these brief passages of non-understanding is similar to the lacunas in the translation of The Epic of Gilgamesh. Although one may suffer slightly from not being able to understand or read small parts of the book, such a detriment is greatly outweighed by the contextual understanding of the history of the book itself. Just like one can enjoy the ancientness of Gilgamesh for its interpretative breaks, one can appreciate the cultural richness of La Frontera for its language mixing.

            Finally, her mixed-language use can best be defended by Anzaldua herself. In the latter half of the book, she speaks to her experience at the Pan American University and about the abusive nature of white education. She says that she was forced to take a speech class to rid her of her Spanish accent and make sure English was her dominant tongue. She describes this process as “cutting out” her “wild tongue,” clearly to admonish such practices. In rebellion, she returns not only to praise her culture, but to advance it unapologetically by interspersing words Spanish words throughout her book. By doing this, she not only makes the white readers reflect in part about feeling linguistically alienated, but she admirably disengages the intended results of her university’s “linguistic violence.”

            In essence, Gloria Anzaldua uses “Spanglish” to reinforce the critical theme of her book. It reflects the very tearing down of linguistic borders and she so ardently argues for the creation of an inclusive Mestizo culture. Yet, the mixed-language is also valuable to the reader as they try to understand the context of the text’s writing, similar to how the text-breaks in The Epic of Gilgamesh reflect its own history. She also mixes her language to refer back to the Pan American University’s attempts to correct and purify her English and show that her “wild tongue” will not be tamed. All in all, Anzaldua’s mixture of Spanish and English is one of the most engaging and rich parts of this work.

            

Freud, The Terrorizer

There is something rotten in the state of Freudian psychology. The method by which Freud advances his theories is both problematic and abusive. First, he uses his lectures to advance his original thesis; as in, his ideas as to the psychological significance of a certain dream or behavior. Then, if there is any kind of disagreement, he explains it away as a psychological issue with that person. More troublingly, because of the highly theoretical nature of psychoanalysis and Freud’s unmatched authority in the field, nobody can reject his proposals with much chance of success. For these reason, Freud has almost unchecked power in advancing or abusing the psychoanalytic process. Yet, Freud’s unlimited power relies on several important argumentative fallacies.
For starters, Freud profusely relies on ad hominem arguments to attack those who would reject his argument. He does this in a very powerful way; unlike the conventional form of attacking one’s character, he attacks their rejection by classifying it as a neurotic issue—“resistance.” He explains away anybody who would reject his theories as simply too afraid to accept reality. In one example, speaks of a client who ardently insists that he is not interested in carnal relations with his mother. What tomfoolery, Freud declares! He only denies these lusts because he patient actually suffers from another mental disability; he is just “resisting” the fact that he lusts for his mother because he doesn’t want to believe it. Freud never seems to entertain the notion that his theory could be flawed or at the very least, not applicable to every sign of maternal quasi-affection.
Even worse, Freud’s psychoanalytic abuse goes totally unchecked because of the speculative nature of psychoanalysis and his authority in the relatively unexplored field. This means that Freud can essentially indict whoever he pleases with the most inflammatory of assertions, with relatively little discourse. As mentioned, there is little to no empirical evidence in his speculations on the nature of the subconscious. Inherent to the study of a thing we are unconscious of, it is very difficult for even qualified psychoanalysts to combat him. Also problematic is the fact that Freud is the established expert in the field. He is the face of psychoanalysis and he relies on his authority to compel his patients to regard his damning judgments of them as fact. More essentially, because of the relative freshness of the field there are few other experts as well-studied as Freud who would be willing to stake their reputation to combat him.
Noting some contemporary similarities, the U.S. Government does a stellar job of placing dissenters in such a lose-lose situation. To expand on this analogy in one specific area, the government uses its nationalistic theories to suggest that certain people are terrorists. This example is not brought up to suggest that they are always or even more often than not incorrect in such accusations, but there is nonetheless an unsettling amount of cases that are similarly problematic. Anyway, after the government has made an indictment (legally or through propaganda), anybody who publicly questions that “terrorist” label is branded as unpatriotic or even as supporting terrorism. If one does not support the “War on Terror,” then one must necessarily be a supporter of terrorism. In this way, one can see a problem similar to the one raised about Freud—because of their position, the actor can make an inflammatory accusation of a person and if it is denied, such discourse is brushed off as improper. Moreover, the unparalleled authority of these actors on these matters (i.e. Freud on psychoanalysis and the U.S. Government on identifying terrorists) allows them to go largely unchallenged.
This is one of the most problematic issues of Freud’s style of analysis. He has developed a method to always diagnosis something wrong with the patient and if one stipulates that his theories are not always wholly correct, his tactics are highly abusive. This is because his theories rely on a couple fallacious argument styles. Primarily, he relies on ad hominem attacks to assert that if a patient rejects his conclusions it is not because it is inaccurate, but rather, because the patient is even more troubled. Moreover, because of the highly speculative nature of his field and his authority on psychoanalysis, his theories have few alternatives or critiques. What comes from this problematic argumentative style is a concoction for infallible character abuse that is still used even today.