There are invisible rulers who control the destines of millions. It is not generally realized to what extent the words and actions of our most influential public men are dictated by shrewd persons operating behind the scenes. Nor, what is still more important, the extent to which our thoughts and habits are modified by authorities. In some departments of our daily life, in which we imagine ourselves free agents, we are ruled by dictators exercising great power.
Edward Bernays, Propaganda
People love their fiction. They’re absorbed in their stories. They emulate the characters they admire and believe it’s all harmless fun. Though that’s not really the case, is it? Is it ever only entertainment? Have we ever wondered why the plots and dialogue are fashioned the way they are? Tough questions like these might just be too much for people. Once lured too deep into the fiction, they lose their bearings. They have trouble finding their way back. That might not even matter as they enjoy deceiving themselves. Like the famous actors we recognize on screen, they have their own starring roles, and they love it. They love playing characters. Although, the characters don’t really exist, do they? They exist as two dimensional images captured on a roll of film. They’re encoded into ones and zeros on a hard drive. Reality as they know it is one tremendous, elaborate lie. At first glance, the lie might seem comforting, but it really isn’t. It’s definitely more torturous. They forfeit their true identities and once that occurs, there’s a chance they might be lost forever. Unfortunately, people have been functioning in the pseudo-reality for some time. Playing the character has become second nature. This transition makes them more malleable than they previously were. They presume to know what they like, but the writers told them what to like. They presume to know what to say, but the writers instructed them on what to say. People are characters. They are lifeless, carved wooden figurines; they’re works of imagination found in fables and fairy tales.
This existence isn’t much different from Pinocchio. Is Adam finally ready to be a real boy? Is Eve finally ready to be a real girl? And if they’re not ready now, they’ll have to play their parts. They’ll have to recite their chosen lines and do as our twisted culture demands. Adam will dissociate from his masculinity. Our invisible rulers will guide him into unnaturally submitting, like a Eunuch, to his female counterpart. Eve will also break away from her distinguishing features. She’ll dissociate from her femininity and will, like a spider that devours her mate, terrorize the males. It doesn’t have to be this way. We don’t have to fulfill those roles. We don’t have to deny the natural, distinct qualities that make up the sexes. We can stop performing and discover who we truly are. Along with that discovery, we learn that popular opinion of our time, if we’re not careful, may bind us to a terrible fate. This fate is endangered fertility. It’s the tear at the fabric of civilization. The bond between male and female is based on the fact that they are themselves, not poor imitations of each other, but that bond is breaking. Characters are so busy with pleasant notions of equality, social justice, and tolerance that they don’t ask the pertinent questions. They don’t ask, “Are my thoughts really mine? Do these words really mean what I think they mean?” They follow the script instead and yet no matter who they are, they notice, at least in passing, how the world is so damaged.
Chaos grips our world today. This only reflects the same chaos surging and swirling in our minds. This is the chaos as it was written. The characters’ emotions are stirred up, provoked, and played against them. Their words, their perspectives, and their likes and dislikes are predetermined and confined to this fictional existence. This is why there is plenty of real work to do but very few opportunities to financially capitalize on it. Real work is doing good, and well-adjusted, knowledgeable people don’t make easy prey. The impulsive and ignorant are the marks. The superficial sells so much better because what’s real is usually free. We are mostly responsible for this. We are the ones who invest not in humanity but for the promise of more capital. Others partially at fault are the salespersons. They only delivered what we believed we wanted, our glamorous, recurring role in the elaborate lie. We want to feel special, and money became our chief objective. No longer simply a tool to facilitate trade, money began to be worth more than the human spirit itself. Nevertheless, we can change. We can begin to intimately know the real. We can understand that social hierarchies, prestige, and luxury are only circular mounds of cow excrement. They mean nothing. They’ve always meant nothing and will always mean nothing. In the pseudo-reality, the characters reach out for this cow excrement. They believe they truly want it. Though if they have no individual identity beyond the role created for them, are they even reaching out? Are they even thinking or breathing? Toiling after the excrement, they don’t realize that they are just as imaginary as they objects they crave.
Will the wooden figurines break their spell? Will they emerge from the elaborate lie, and enter the real world? I don’t know if they’re able to be awakened with the breath of life. I might be one of them, but I also see so many lies. I see many pitfalls here. There is a deeper reality beyond the stream of data we receive through our senses. I think you see this truth as well. You know that real girls don’t reduce others to a means for social validation. You know that the real boys don’t treat others like empty vessels to deposit their DNA. Real humans aren’t like this. Real existence isn’t like this. Though real existence isn’t pretty either, at least cow excrement ceases to be an object of worship. At least among the living, work means building something good. Real work never meant programming the lifeless figurines to buy mirages, the shadows and the illusions. The rulers create these eager customers, terribly thirsty customers who cannot drink. Even if water existed in their pseudo-reality, they wouldn’t have the independent locomotion to reach it. Maybe acute trauma will thrust them out of this pseudo-reality. Maybe they’ll begin to go mad reciting the same superficial lines over and over again. If they really want to transcend the pseudo-reality, they had better understand what’s really important. Real understanding is applied wisdom. It is abandoning the wicked role our dictators have written for us. Real humans don’t play characters. Real humans live and breathe the truth.