Reviews by Hubie Goode: EWI/Robert Allen No Money Down Real Estate

EWI/Robert Allen "No Money Down Real Estate"

It was quite a few years ago when I first read one of Robert Allen’s books, and it was quite the read. I remember feeling as though it was for people who had more ability than myself. Today, though, I do feel as though if I gave it the hard work it requires, that indeed it would be possible to pull it off. Well, it is a lot of work. It’s a lot of unconventional work, and I think that is where the rub begins.

There was a time when the Robert Allen people came into town for a one time, one day seminar and offered you a three day seminar for another time. Naturally, of course, as anyone who has gone to these things can tell you, there is a lot of selling. What gets me, and I find this a bit amusing, is that you can practically see the yellow legal pad full of lists of sales resistance and objections throughout the day long presentations in one of these meetings. The single day meetings are just a sales pitch. You won’t learn anything about the business, they know better than to let the cat out of the bag on this one. You’ll receive only a small share of the concept, just enough to wet your appetite. Then, at the end of the day, they let you know that the three day course they are offering in order to become one of their associates is usually $3995.00, but, of course, if you join today, it’s only $1995.00.

The company has gotten smart about this, and I guess the economy has forced their hand, but now the three day seminars are free. And I went to one of these. The thing is though, as they really do reveal a lot more about what it is that they do, it’s really just another upsell. This time, the upsell is more like $15,000.00 at the end of the three days. I suppose if you are really motivated, and know you can do this sort of thing, then more power to you. I would never want to dissuade anyone from something they feel they can accomplish. But what is it exactly that you are doing? That’s the real issue. The presenters are very sharp, they handle the audience with power and grace, and obviously they are deep into the process. I applaud them for their professionalism. I do not agree with the core value of this program, however.

What’s it really about? What is required is for you to go looking high and low for desperate and on the edge sellers, who have no real estate broker. They don’t like realtors, I think it’s because realtors operate within the real estate broker system, and that’s a "no no". This might be a 1 out of 100 job, and still you might have to wait for the 1 seller to reach a panic state before you can make the deal. And that’s the rub, for me at least, because it promotes a kind of “vulture” mentality which waits for the carcass to go almost belly up before the buyer swoops in.

So, you make a deal, to sell the house for the seller. Then you increase the price arbitrarily, whatever makes sense to the training. When you sell the house, you just take the profit for yourself. More specifically, you have a house worth $20,000, a desperate seller, and you increase the sale price to $26,000, sell it and pocket your $6,000. This is all done outside the regulations. Now, it’s not illegal, they have been doing it for thirty years or so. But you have to wonder how moral it is. All you did was make deals and re-arrange situations over payments and ownerships, all without banks and real estate sales people, depending on the desperate condition of your individual seller, and you pocket $6,000. It’s possible to do, .....but is it right?

The speaker I saw was quite proud of the fact that he often just made things up in order to manipulate the situation for events to head in the course that would be most lucrative for himself, all within the law, of course. But, I had to wonder, if I had joined up, how long would it be before imaginary manipulations became reserved for myself?

Reviews by Hubie Goode: No Going Home, An Interview With The Homeless Part 2

No Going Home
Part 2

An Interview With The Homeless

John worked as a taxi driver in New York City for over a decade before becoming disenchanted with the “living inside of a pinball machine” existence of the big city and he hopped a greyhound bus headed west. After ending up in Southern California he landed a job as a 7-11 night clerk. What he didn’t expect was the clientèle that frequented these kinds of haunts in the middle of the night. All too often the customers would grab beer and snacks and just walk out. There were also a few hold-ups at gun point over things such as a submarine sandwich or a bag of donuts.

“I could have been killed over nothing,” John tells me shaking his head in confusion. “So I got the hell out of there.

In 1996 he moved to Santa Monica but has only been able to find part time work. “It’s hard to find anything here,” he admits. “If I had known it was like this, I would have stayed where I was.”

John was now one of the huge hordes of single men who are homeless on the streets of Santa Monica. Statistics show the majority of homeless are single men with no families and no employment. The total of Los Angeles homeless is around 90,000 and a big section of that is ensconced in Santa Monica. A huge number if you consider that a football stadium can seat about 66,000 spectators.

He was at the time commuting from a mattress store where he was earning $9 dollars an hour, part time, from the area in which he now lives, but the bus trips every day take almost two hours each way. The cost took huge bites from his salary which was about the same as he makes from welfare now. Santa Monica was cracking down on the deluge of homeless men and women who peppered the streets and choked the third street promenade, turning away many customers who would otherwise spend money in the over priced, affluent area. Northridge is like small town America in comparison and sometime in 2007, after sleeping on the streets for a year, he was laid off from the mattress store. Another invisible victim of the mass recession.

“I was at first sleeping on the corner in a sleeping bag, and then I started to feed the stray cats. I built them some homes and then decided I needed one too. So I built this tent.”

There were no stray cats to feed in Santa Monica, he couldn’t find any. The cats here in Northridge disappear during the day and no one knows where they go. After some time of taking care of the kitties, he ran into an entire society of people who do the same. Feral cat activists will donate food to John so he can take care of the “lost boys” of the cat world.

One person who is a feral cat defender and supporter of John’s work, has told me by phone that John is really a very kind hearted man. “He takes a real offense at the state of forgotten cats and people who don’t have much.” It was when John was ticketed by the railroad company for pitching his tent on the property that his defender became enraged. “They don’t care about anything but money. If John were to die today, they would simply call the coroner and have his stuff trashed. It would be all over before you knew it.”

In 1880 the railroad was such a problem that newspaper reporters and settlers to the area were convinced that it represented corporate greed and political corruption that was taking over the country. That’s 1880! The attitudes of the railroads all across the country towards locals was so prevalent that it even inspired movies like Once Upon a Time In The West.

A few months ago the railroad sent a Union Pacific police officer to John’s tent. These men are fully commissioned and work with local, state and federal agencies, so I am told by those who know. They were alerted to John’s presence by the railroad tracks by local businesses and citizens.

“While we are certainly concerned for the homeless,” I am informed by email. “We certainly have to look out for the health and welfare of all citizens and businesses in the area. The presence of someone trespassing on the railroad’s land poses a dire threat and danger to everyone.”

According to John, “The police officer was not listening to anything I had to say. He seemed to hate poor people. I explained to him why I am here several times and he turned a deaf ear to me.”

John was then told that if he did not leave within three days that he would be ticketed. He was then given a summons to appear in court in a three counts criminal case: Lodging without permission, trespass on rail property and general trespass. The courts biggest concern is for the health and well being of the surrounding citizenry, and this is a misdemeanor crime, so says the courts.

The local councilman also states that there have been consistent complaints to his office about the man living in a tent behind the store just a block or so away from the councilman’s office. The office would not say just who had made those calls, since all information must be kept confidential.

A staff member of the office visited John also, and during the visit referred him to some services that could assist him. The councilman’s office repeatedly states that its concern is for both John and the public. Not a short time later the matter was then considered to be a county problem and no longer a case that could be handled by the councilman’s office.

A long time real estate assessor tells me that if indeed it is a county problem, then the Railroad cannot legally serve trespassing documents to John based on the very spot he has chosen to live. “Because of the flood channel below him,” the assessor states. “John is not on Railroad property.”

When John went to court that day, several people who had taken up his cause also showed up to provide the court with the homework on property ownership vs. county land that the assessor had discovered. The prosecutor was taken aback and befuddled to see the evidence. Evidence that should have been basic investigative work for any prosecution office. The prosecutor asked for a continuance.

John has been defending himself since his court lawyer told him to just plead guilty to trespassing and get on with his life. John still faces trial in the near future and the prosecutor’s office has yet to respond to the legal land ownership evidence. There has been nothing but back and forth between all offices concerned and the case is stalled until someone can discover if John has broken any laws at all.

How this all began is a real mystery though, since newspapers have also gotten into the fray. They have found that those so called businesses that complained about John are all smoke, as no one will repeat the often chanted mantra of the system that local businesses complained. In fact, many told the papers that they have no problem with John at all. Most local employees and citizens didn’t even know he was behind the store.

John says that ever since the local mall sold space to several high profile retailers that his tent has been visited often by police, security guards and three people who flashed fake police ID’s and then messed with his belongings. He filed a crime report with the police but was ignored.

Investigating the incident has been difficult to do since no one knows who has jurisdiction. So the impersonators get off scott free. The local police have repeatedly offered city services to John but he has refused to take them. Admittedly, the police say, the complaints they get are about the cats he feeds, not about John. “His personal behavior has been quiet and reserved,” the police say.

PATH, People Assisting the Homeless, has said, “The system is failing to respond to John’s needs in the proper fashion. Finding him a place to live is the answer, not wrangling over who’s property he is on.”

According to PATH, the longer a person stays on the street the more emboldened they become as to remaining there. Even if John loses in court, he will still be back on the street somewhere, and probably the whole process will start all over again with a new group of people.

During our last midnight run to feed cats, John and I stop at a McDonald’s and he offers to treat me. I decline and he declines to eat for himself. “I’m like this,” he tells me. “Because my father was abusive. He would come at me with a stick for the littlest things. He thought I was lazy.” He then takes a long moment to stare unfocused out of the window. “I can’t shake it. It’s just the way it is.”

“What about you, John?” I ask him. “What are YOU responsible for?”

He perks up and says, “The cats.”

Reviews by Hubie Goode: No Going Home, An Interview With The Homeless

No Going Home

An Interview With The Homeless

Seven days ago a man known only as “John” walked out of a court hearing for trespassing on railroad property so he could return to his “area” and feed his stray cats that roam the neighborhood in a tree lined area of Northridge in the San Fernando Valley.

“Cats have no reason to be hungry,” explains John, who although a foreigner, speaks English like a college professor. “Cats love their life, like people should. They never worry about not being better than they are. They’re cats. Its enough.”

Only a few hours ago, during the usual scorching heat of the valley, John had sat in his tent near a lonely stretch of railroad, quiet and weed riddled, listening to the news on the radio. The radio blasts its report across the seemingly forgotten stretch of rail tracks which seem almost forlorn by any train that may have once come this way. The radio reports on the death of a famous star, John looks off into the distance at the rails that go on and on and seem to only come together somewhere at the bottom of the crest of mountains that surround the entire valley.

“Jeeze, that’s so sad,” he finally chokes out in a light whisper. “We were born on the same day. He dies, and I’m still here.”

As the sun sets and the heat of the day begins to abate, there is a brief respite as gentle breezes begin to announce the oncoming cool of the desert night. He quickly forgets the harassment of the legal system and the death of a famous person as kitty cats begin to seemingly show up from some hidden dimension that they alone are aware of.

John has an old blue mountain bike that he attaches three or four old plastic grocery bags to in which he loads lots of cat food. He generally walks the bike, every night, for about six or seven hours, up and down the back streets of Northridge giving to the only creatures he knows that ask for nothing, demand nothing, harass him about nothing, they just simply “are”.

I offer to give him a ride around the streets instead, my only real contribution I can handle myself at the moment, and John agrees. “Thanks, it makes it easier, “ he tells me with sorrowful eyes that have spots and specks in their white areas that move me to distraction. Though I never mention it.

He sits next to me in my car, ripe as a trash can full of fruit left out in the midday sun and it’s all I can do not loose my lunch. It’s not a revelation I am proud to admit. He wears a long coat, which once had stuffing inside of it that made longitudinal puffs from head to toe, but now only bares tears and curious burn marks where long lost stuffing once found its own type of liberty long, long ago. He has on a green suit coat and grey slacks that do little to hide the complete lack of any leg volume beneath their obviously smeared fabric patterns. Beneath the coat is a v-neck t-shirt that has not been washed in so long I hate to even make a guess as to its current age. He is bald except for a ring of wild white hair around his crest, but the hood of his puffy coat is functional enough to help with the cold of the evening.

It’s rather late in the night when we return to the car after a cat feeding episode and I absent mindedly turn on the car radio. In the disk player is an old Stephen Curtis Chapman album I still like, and the song His Eyes has just begun. John stares straight ahead, he seems fixated on the lyrics.

His eyes are always upon you,
His eyes never close in sleep,
And no matter where you go you will always be,
In his eyes.

The song ends and John seems shocked and saddened. “I haven’t heard that song in a long, long time.” He wistfully morns. “I hear lots of hateful stuff on the radio these days, lots of deep, dark voices that really can’t sing. The beats drive me crazy. Just crazy. Why don’t they play more songs like that one anymore?”

He seems concerned with lots of trivia about the world and his own life, much to his own distress. Whether he realizes this or not, is hard to say. Right now he seems very far away from concern over the legal fight with the railroad that wants to kick him out of his makeshift home near the tracks.

The Valley has an unusual way of marking the haves and have nots in that there is a literal “temporal” shift in neighborhoods the further east you go toward the Santa Susanna mountains. Glossy malls and chain stores give way to sudden influxes of small business stores like laundromats and carnecieras. John lives behind a store just over the tracks in a neighborhood that seems to be still reinventing itself, even after all this time since the destructive earthquake of 1994.

On another day, one where the temperature is some 90 degrees plus with no humidity, John tells me he has already fed the seagulls and pigeons, something he does twice a day. His radio is once again blaring the news across the stultified railroad tracks, solitary and cut off from the daily movement of the teaming populace only about 50 yards away at most, yet his home is largely invisible to the daily grind. He turns the radio off and offers me some boxed cookies from the 99 cents store and some fruit juice, the bottle is marked with something like tar and seems to have been kept in a trash bag. I ignore my natural revulsion and appease him, though inwardly I wish I had not.

“I receive a monthly welfare check,” he tells me between cookies. “I get 200 dollars a month, and food stamps.” He continues matter of factly, with little sign of remorse or self effacement. I can’t help but cringe inwardly as I remember my own figures for living requirements here in Los Angeles, those requirements that run along the costs of $3500 a month just to live here comfortably.

“I’m gonna get a job someday,” He tells me. “A man’s gotta work.”

He stares at the cookies in his hand as if they might suddenly jump from his grasp if he doesn’t keep and eye on them. He gets up and grabs an old plastic bathroom stool so we can get out of the sun and sit inside of his tent which he bought at a local store for around $100 dollars. A thick tarp has been thrown over the tent, which is necessary for reflecting the valley’s harsh midday sun. Unfortunately, John has chosen a spot to live on that is cement in every direction. Cement that turns into a baking sheet in the day and an ice trey at night. Nearby there is a railroad spur used at one time to supply goods to local businesses. There are no trees to provide him shade. There is only the long, torturous railroad track that stretches out to forever, visually bobbing and weaving in the afternoon heat, and seems to call to anyone who might pass by to join it in its dissolution.

Inside John’s tent he has a large stained up mattress and a small cage for his cat named Desiderata. He tells me the definition of the word means, “those things desired or wanted.” I don’t mention that I am quite familiar with the term.

Little multi-colored car fresheners shaped like Christmas trees hang openly all over the interior of the tent. On one wall there is a sheet of paper on which is written a poem that has faded with the sun’s rays. I ask him what the poem was since it is now impossible to read.

“It’s something I once liked a lot,” he tells me. That’s all he volunteers.

There are also small Christian crosses and American flags decorating the tent walls with a dizzying randomness. “I’m religious,” he tells me as he gestures to the crosses. “I would rather die hungry than steal.”

The interior of the tent is stacked with his belongings. He literally lives among his possessions. He shaves every day and has a makeshift shower with a gas can that hangs from a support bar that has little holes poked in it to create a shower effect. Not surprisingly, the gas can is bone dry and pushed back toward the rear wall. There is a narrow flood control channel with tumbling water a few yards beneath the small concrete bridge way where he lives, and I can only guess where the facilities are.

He tells me he doesn’t use drugs, he only smokes. He buys the cheapest smokes on sale, and he has made his own filter out of plastic straws and old cigarette filters. He can’t stop smoking even though his father, whom he seems to imply was abusive, always hassled him about it.

John is the fourth child of 11 who once lived somewhere between Jordan and Damascus, he’s not quite sure anymore just where it was or what the town was called. All he can tell me is that his family fled the area during the Six-Day War.

“You know those old Vietnam films you see with all the helicopters? That’s what it was like, complete pandemonium (his word). Tanks and helicopters were shooting at everyone. Everyone was running.”

He learned to speak English in school but didn’t have much stomach for studying. “Besides, my father wanted me to work.” He says with a long breath.

He left school surprisingly, at the seventh grade, and got a job as a cement mixer. He made about $6 dollars a week. “We needed to help my dad,” he explains. “ It was important to support the family. We got sixty cents a week for ourselves, but that used to last a week.”

The 70’s were a turbulent time, but John was a kid with kid concerns. He could then buy a Pepsi with three cents and a pack of cigarettes with the same. When caught smoking he would be beaten and kicked out of the house. He would go to special places in the town where he could meet other kids who had also been banished from the house. Many of the kids in his forgotten land were victims of abuse in the home.

Sometimes these kids would organize and sneak back into their own homes to rifle through the food stores or take some of dad’s money. They would all then go hide someplace and smoke all night.

John says his mother was a good hearted woman who used to feed stray cats. His brother met an American girl and moved to New Jersey, then his brother sent for him to come and live here in America with him.

“That was 1976,” he says, nodding with solicitous affection. “The whole world was different then. That’s when America was truly America.”

more on this next time

Reviews by Hubie Goode: National Dissolution and Soren Kierkegaard Part 4

National Dissolution
and Søren Kierkegaard

Part 4

So let’s finish this blog post. If I ever have to type the name “Kierkegaard” ever again it will be too soon.

As we have said, Existentialism has no real basic tenant or rules, in fact it even disowns it’s own title of “Existentialism.” This idea of allowing for anything and everything all in the name of non-structure has found its way into the church. The results have been a myriad of theological view points. Things became so bad at one point in the recent past, that one so called theologian announced that “God is Dead.” Now just about any social cause has become the linchpin of theology. We have: urban theology, black theology, liberation theology, Hispanic theology, process theology, rhetorical theology, and a cornucopia of others. It’s no surprise that with the birth of each new theology the ascendancy curve becomes smaller and smaller.

Clinton-ease

The rise of all this confusion has not left the Christian world without its bruises. Basic questions as to mission and purpose are renewed consistently. In the days after World War II, churches, denominations, and major movements across the country operated on the basis of a basic conservative set of theological ideas. But as we have seen in the beginnings of a new century, those questions are still not settled, many problems of which relate to arguments over shaded gradations of word meanings. Of course, it all depends upon what the meaning of the word “Is” ... is.

The purpose of the coming of Christ has become a major point of contention and has been co-opted by libertarian theologians. Their answer is that Christ came to the world to bring economic liberation to the masses. The old answer was that Jesus came that all may have eternal life which was lost at the time of man’s fall from grace. Since God loves everyone equally, and “went to the wall” for his fallen creation, it makes one’s head hurt to think that anyone would question this. You’ll have money, and you won’t have money all through your life, but you will die one day, and what happens then?

Even Salvation has its equivocation in the contemporary Christian church. Believing in Jesus now brings probation, not salvation. There are now new definitions of everything caused by the insidious influence of the virus known as existentialism. Faith, imputed righteousness, works, are all now up for grabs as to the true meaning and definition of these words, and thus, as a result so is man’s understanding of their place and results in keeping in line with what God says is truth and not just what we have intellectualized as truth.

Thy Kingdom Come

We now have a group of people who can be known as “Reconstructionists”. These are folks who believe that the role of the church is to take over the world, improve social structure, and prepare society for the return of Christ. Christians should have actual dominion over the political structure, is their mantra.

“Kingdom now” theologies are an ever increasing problem which offers instant everything. Instant healing, instant wealth, instant “whatever you want” if only you’ll embrace the Kingdom. With all this confusion over meanings and purpose, we often have more questions than answers. Little do most realize that this confusion is little more than a smoke screen and the true purpose of it all has never changed in and of itself for hundreds of years.

Alexander Wept, For There Were No More Worlds To Conquer

The ancient Greeks had a language which was pin point specific in the use of words and meaning. They had seven different words for “love”. They knew that “Eros” was not “Agape”. When Alexander the Great conquered the world of his day, little did he realize that in the coming age just after his life that Christianity would be born and the Word of God would be transmitted in the world wide Greek language of the day. This happening was no mistake. This was no serendipitous chance meeting of a populace that had many different languages but now was inundated with the pin point accuracy of the Greek language. This was divine purpose. Existentialism has now muddied the waters of language so much that any discussion can vere wildly off into an argument over just what has been said and meant by the most basic of words in any conversation. If you don’t believe me just try to have a discussion on evolution and see how far off the point one can get.

Somebody Loves You, You Loves Somebody

This dissipation, dissolution creates confusion in a populace. The result is vulnerability in a culture. Effected by this vulnerability, the world may find itself all too ready to accept a new voice which puts straight the crooked path of understanding and truth. A new global voice, a new plan for the future, a new hope which will be novel but certainly plausible, would logically be the next step. Who would this person be? How would the world see someone who offers all-embracing, panacea-style theology? Existentialism is only the first salvo in what can only be something ominous on the horizon. It has already begun in the recent past, a past we all know actually happened. We’re not talking about ancient history here. We all know events from the 1800’s until today DID happen. They continue to effect us on a daily basis. For those forces that never sleep and have thousands of years to implement a game plan, it is no big deal to move millimeter by millimeter toward a final desired result. “A final solution”, if you get my reference.


He loves you, too. Depending on how you define love. ------------------------------------------------>

Reviews by Hubie Goode: National Dissolution and Soren Kierkegaard Part 3

National Dissolution
and Søren Kierkegaard

Part 3

The final product of Kierkegaard’s arrival in the west with the translation of his writings can only be described as theological and philosophical dissolution. Irrational thinking and feelings took hold of logic and articulate thought and inculcated themselves within the fabric of popular society. The thinking of the world now became a set of self contradictions that bowed and gave homage to a gospel of confusion.

Objectivity is Subjectively Objective

Just to set up a definition for the term Existentialism is to belie Existentialism itself. Existentialism is itself not really a philosophy. It is a label for a myriad of rebellions against traditional philosophies. Living existentialists do not want to have “intercourse” with the affiliation to existentialism. To someone outside the “club house of the somnambulant”, it may appear that perhaps the only thing existentialists have in common with each other is, in fact, a severe aversion to each other. It may indeed be best if the term “existentialism” were perhaps allowed to rest in the dust bin of history all together.

This isn’t even a school of thought, like most valid philosophies are. The most well known existentialists, Jaspers, Heidegger, and Sarte; don’t even agree on basic points. Pascal and Kierkegaard were so called Catholics or “Bible Christians”. Nietzsche and Dostoevsky were impassioned anti-christians and fanatic Greek-Orthodox Russian imperialists. Rilke, Kafka and Camus tread an even farther distance from the beaten path. The more we look at major proponents of existentialism, the more we see that they are in reality just a disenfranchised group of individualists.

In simple black and white, the true definition of existentialism is this: The refusal to belong to any school of thought. The rejection of any body of beliefs whatsoever. The view that current traditional philosophy is superficial, academic and remote from life and therefore useless and dissatisfying.

If you break a crumb in half... you have two crumbs

Existentialism actually makes a “career” of floating on the shifting waters of a great ocean. Having contradiction and anomaly at its heart of hearts, one could say anything about existentialism and it would be true. For those who support it, “the moment” is everything. There are no causes, no consequences, only interaction with the outer world is paramount. As any Freudian psychologist would ask with world shaking importance, “How do you feel about that?” As true existentialists would report, it is our feelings in the moment that make up reality. Having unfortunately seen movies like Saw 5, I can understand where in our society this kind of thinking has become a broken mast aboard a ship caught in a violent storm, which darts and spins out of control in hapless abandon, threatening to cripple or disembowel any who are foolish enough to remain standing on the tilting bow of its ship.

Atheist existentialists promote a form of thought that denies any priority or common ground of morality. The only thing that is right is what is right for you. It’s a good thing we have laws and law enforcement. Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die. Nothing is true, nothing is false.

We're Not in Kansas Anymore

I close my eyes, Only for a moment, then the moments gone. All my dreams, Pass before my eyes, a curiosity. Dust in the wind, All they are is dust in the wind. Same old song, Just a drop of water in an endless sea. All we do, Crumbles to the ground, though we refuse to see, Dust in the wind, All we are is dust in the wind, ohh Now, don’t hang on, Nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky
It slips away, And all your money won’t another minute buy, Dust in the wind, All we are is dust in the wind, All we are is dust in the wind, Dust in the wind, Everything is dust in the wind - A song by Kansas

Gee, it’s just a pop song, you might say. But composed minds understand all too well that there is a difficult strain of insanity that runs through the whole exercise of existentialism. Incomprehensibly, it has become a major tenant of thought of our day. Today’s western civilization is now replete with colleges whose philosophy departments are built upon the ground floor tenants of existentialism. College students everywhere have been poisoned by the brainwashing effects of this non-philosophical point of view. When sending your kids to college, you really have to consider just whom you are giving your money to. What are you supporting? The mental contagion of existentialism has become a pandemic of sorts across not only America, but outwards toward most of the world. Is it even possible to root out and destroy a virus like this? One whose main position is : “what feels good, do it.”

So Meet Me At Midnight Baby,
Inside the Sad Cafe....

We received the rebellious, raging youth culture of the 60’s from the womb of existentialism. From the stolid society of the 50’s Happy Days, we shifted towards a culture of boys who look like girls and girls who look like boys, and transvestites who were allowed Andy Warhol’s 15 minutes of fame, when just 20 years earlier such persons would have been run out of town on a rail. I haven’t even touched on the subject of Homosexuality since the appearance of existentialism and the “mustard plant” it has grown into since this day, because there is just to much to say at this time and it would take us off the current subject for too many paragraphs. But trust me, there is a TON to be said about it’s insidious presence in our society. Another blog, for sure.

College students of the 60’s became college professors and spread their agenda toward the next generation of children. Along came the free sex thing, free love, narcotics use for fun, orgies, seances, not to mention “Don’t Fear the Reaper” and the “Suicide Solution”. Of course, Ozzy defended his song as NOT a call for teens to commit suicide, using all the precepts of equivocation, a ground floor practice of Kierkegaard, to be sure.

Hey, Teacher! Leave Those Kids Alone!

But hey, existentialism is fun, right? Say good bye to the "squares". Goodbye to sleeping with your windows open at night. Goodbye to knowing your kids could be kids in their young life before they ever became knowledgeable about adult matters, both lofty and base. Goodbye Opie Taylor, hello Jake Harper of TV’s Two and a Half Men who says things like: “Anyone want to lick the beater?”, after he bakes muffins that are a running joke based on the euphemism of muffins being a correlation to female body parts. Anyone who has seen The Rocky Horror Picture Show knows what a “sweet transvestite” is, and how funny and friendly they can be.... right? Goodbye to Elvis’ “Only Fools Fall in Love” and hello to Rap music’s “F*** a Stupid B*tch”.

Yeah, we’re just having fun.

Like Darwinism and Marxism, existentialism panders to the lower base instincts of mankind. It is not just a potential alternative school of thought, but is reprobation itself. Even the most pagan of philosophies from the past held to some form of logic, some form of intrinsic organization and they usually attempted to redefine truth. This can’t be said of existentialism.

Since the 60’s, existentialism has cleaned up itself a bit. It is now a corporate shill in an Armani suit, a modern woman who teaches 2nd graders, and even a cool, progressive preacher. It looks for all the world like sophistication. But if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, then it is a duck. Epistemological nihilism always leads to death even when it is served in “cups of Kool-Aid”.

Surely You Jest... Stop Calling me Surely....

Back at the end of World War II, classic liberalism expired. That’s when Kierkegaard and the religious existentialists were discovered by leaders of education and ecumenical denominations in America, Brittain, and the European continent. Neoorthodoxy was born, existentialism in religion was now in fashion. A popular proponent of this was a man named Heidegger. A well known source on such subjects states:

Existentialism, through Heidegger, has influenced and formed existential theology, especially in the work of Barth, Bultman, and Tillich and Macquarrie. This approach stresses the existential moment in hermeneutics and preaching, in which humanity is summoned to respond to the call of God to live an authentic life. Jesus is the perfect example of an authentic existence. The nature of being, as outlined by existentialism, has led Tillich to interpret God as the “ground of our being” rather than as a being at all. This effects both theological epistemology and ontology. Existentialist philosophy asks the fundamental human questions of existence. Theology’s task is to provide the answers.

Other writers such as Marcel and Weil have adopted an existential approach to theology in contrast to clinically abstract theology. For them, theology is participative and incarnational, emphasizing the ontological weight of human experience. The key is dialogue and communication as an individual (The “I”) with the eternal “thou”. This leads us to faith and assurance.

That was as tough to write as it was for most to understand, I am sure, but it calls attention to the relevancy of neoorthodoxy and its advent. Disillusioned liberals at the end of World War II felt betrayed by the pseudo Christianity that they had adopted and promoted throughout the world. Needing a new ground floor upon which to stand, they began to turn back to orthodoxy, but they were NOT willing to re-embrace the Word of God as truth. They stopped short despite the revelation that their first rejection was instrumental in the most dangerous time span mankind has ever seen.

Did God Really Say That?

Using the power of equivocation so prevalent within existentialism, they infected the Christian faith with words that only sounded like the real thing when referring to Christian paradigms. True believers were deceived by a wolf in sheep’s clothing, so to speak, as they sat in churches naively believing they were receiving correct and sound doctrine.

As an example: “All scripture is given by inspiration from God.” The neoorthodox theologian uses the word inspiration but removes its meaning. To this way of preaching, inspiration is not what happens when God gives his word, but instead what happens when the word impacts a human spirit. Therefore, for these folks, the Bible isn’t “THE Word of God”, it only “contains” the Word of God. Inspiration is now an experience, not a definition of provenance relating to Holy Scripture.

Salvation too, is equivocated. No longer is it a cleansing of sin by the shed blood of Christ, but now it is a psychological experience with the personality of Jesus. Terms like “holistically” and “realization” are now added in to tweak the true message. The effort is now on improving the human spirit and moving mankind ahead, rather than the rebirth of a fallen mankind by turning to a loving creator.

We cannot, of course, blame Kierkegaard for all of these events. Many are the result of the beast born from his seed, but he does still hold fast the title of “Father of Existentialism” and therefore it is essential to include his insane ramblings when considering our present philosophical and religious conditions.

One more chapter of this swill to go.... if you are still reading