This essay is poignant for me. My life would be different without Richard Hanania.

Maybe Sebastian Jensen would not be a writer; or he would be set on a different path. There is a network of nodes in which Hanania, as the "network whale," has a profound self-reinforcing influence.

Peter Thiel and George Soros are philosophers with the money to influence real events. Hanania is more like Socrates, a man without vast wealth, but who instead marshals ideas and force of personality to influence real events.

Politics is a matter of life and death. The intention of the political philosophy is heroic, even if muddled by the algorithm. This muddling is also the evolution of warfare away from personal close combat toward automated weaponry, machine guns, and mortars, which is impersonal and even inhuman.

History is monumental and all-consuming; we appear as ants and motes of dust. The posting of most e-celebs signifies nothing more than sound and fury. Even the purest schizo-post or autistic study, ground down by the algorithmic slop machine, can become fodder for the "bugman" mob. Memes are copied without understanding, and they become a disgusting parody of their former selves.

This is similar to Mark Fischer's critique of capitalism: the more we lash out against the slop machine, the more we drown in it. The only way to win is not to play. It is dangerous to be so close to the quicksand, the black hole of "cringe," so I hesitate to use holy words like love. But love is the basis of my poignant feelings.

I keep a dream journal, and I notice how parasocial internet relationships enter my subconscious. Internet relationships lack the intimacy of the cashier at the corner store; but they can be deeper.

"Father figures" are not just something for "lost" boys. As men seek out models, they become attached to professors, mentors, teachers and peers as surrogate brothers and fathers. In Platonism, these relationships are sacred.

Even Platonic "eros" carries more than a purely sexual connotation. The Greeks were doing gay stuff, but they also recognized forms of love based on pure intellectual admiration and appreciation.

It feels silly or cringe to "love" people on a pure intellectual basis. But if we can love a great book or work of literature, why can't we love its author? If we can love a video game or anime, why can't we also love the artist that created it -- even if we have never met them?

Intellectual work lacks the poetry that strikes directly into the vulnerable soul. But unlike literature or anime, philosophical dialogue is a dynamic two-way street. Active participation transcends the consumption of "mono-directional" art. The inspiring motive force behind the dialogue, and fondness which develops out of it, points toward the existence of intellectual love.