The moderates have set a big tent – something about “a place for the great debate.” Look at them in there with their toothbrush mustaches and their violent exchange of ideas. Who are they to think for themselves? This is unsafe. Where are their morals? Where is their conviction? It is self-evident that one can not be moral and have conviction while simultaneously suffering the other side to speak.
I am left with no choice but to retreat deeper into the recesses of my echo chamber. For even in these outer halls of my ideological fortress there is far too much ferality, too much divergence in thought. Inevitably every protracted exchange with others devolves to a point of descent. Just when I think I have found a kindred spirit they all betray me with some dangerous idea, some wrinkle, some damn nuance that threatens to topple my whole construct. How dare they stray from my orthodoxy.
Ah yes, the deep recesses of my echo chamber are the place for me—a cavernous conclave of mirrors. Mirrors, so I won’t be alone. Humans are a social species, after all. What joy I will find as the mirrors mirror back the image of my clean-shaven upper lip and reflect rightly the signals of my virtue. Indeed, the sacred union with my own perfect image is the summum bonum.
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