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- I was on the internet in Springtime in a very secluded corner when I heard an obsessive and an abstainer holding a great debate. Their argument was fierce, passionate, and vehement, sometimes sotto voce, sometimes loud; and each of them swelled with rage against the other and let out all their anger, and said the very worst they could think of about the other's character, and especially they argued strongly against each other's passion. The abstainer began the argument in the corner of a forum and perched on a high pedestal---there was plenty of distance around it--- behind an impenetrable thick wall. He was all the happier because of the wall, and spoke in many different ways; his opinion appeared to change by the hour and sounded as if it was derived from the hearsay of the digital Senate rather than from a living throat. Nearby there stood a prosperous well where the obsessive sang his chorus and which was all overflowing with water; upon this well was where the obsessive lived. The abstainer looked at him, and scrutinised him and despised him and everything about the obsessive seemed unpleasant to him, since he is regarded as infantile and embarrassing. 'You nasty creature!', the abstainer said, 'go away! The sight of you makes me sick. Certainly I often have to stop my own conversations because of your obsession. My heart fails me, and so does my speech, when you thrust yourself on me and others. I'd rather spit than hear about your wretched obsession.' The obsessive composed himself a while for he was hurt by the abstainer's words; when the abstainer was alone he couldn't hold back any longer, because he was so angry that he could hardly breathe, and finally he spoke: 'How does my obsession seem to you now? Do you think my obsession is overblown, when perhaps I can mediate it? You often insult me and say things to upset and embarrass me. If you were out from behind your wall, your voice would have a very different sound!' The abstainer answered, 'As long as I keep out of the open, and protect myself against being exposed, I'm not bothered about your threats; as long as I stay put behind my wall, I don't care at all what you say. I know that you're ruthless towards those who aren't in the same state of reverence towards your obsession, and that where you can you bully non-believers cruelly and harshly. That is why the internet hates you, and they all drive you away, and screech and scream around you, and mob you at close quarters; and for the same reason any abstainer would gladly rip you to pieces. You're irritating to look at, and hideous in all sorts of ways; your mind is too liberal, your pride has gone, your voice is greater than the rest of you put together; your eyes see only pastel colours, as if they were covered in candy. You glare as if you want to infect everything that you see with your obsession. Your choice in entertainment is effeminate and child-like. You often make repeated statements – love and tolerate - and that's your one single song. But you're making threats against my own enjoyment, and would like to convert me to your obsession; a lover of shortcakes of strawberries would suit you better, as then you could not attempt to justify it; reverting to a child would be more natural and appropriate for you. You surf children's channels by day and blog by night; you show that you're an evil creature. You hoard your obsession---I'm talking about your home, and also about your dirty peers; you're implicating them with your pathetic habit.' The obsessive listened to this, and kept his eyes lowered, and sat puffed up and swollen with rage, as if he had swallowed a horseshoe, because he was fully aware that the abstainer was chiding to humiliate him. And nevertheless he answered: 'Why don't you step out from behind your wall and give my passion a chance? Perhaps you would like it; I don't fancy being clawed by you when we could unite. You have very strong opinions; you cling to them with pride. You were planning---that's what your sort do---to make me recant my obsession. I wouldn't do what you suggested to me through aggression; I knew very well that you were trying to mislead me. You ought to be ashamed of your misinformed opinion! When you want to practice your trolling, see that it's not so obvious; because trolling brings down hilarity and embarrassment if it's open and recognized. You didn't succeed with your cunning plans, because I've heard all of your complaints before. I have a good fandom, both in breadth and talent. But let's stop this fighting, because speeches like this aren't getting us anywhere; and let's begin with reasonable procedure and courteous and diplomatic language. Even if we don't agree, we can communicate better politely, without quarrelling and fighting, properly and correctly; and indeed each of us can say what he wants to fairly and reasonably. Love and tolerate.' 'Stop with your 'love and tolerate' bullshit', said the abstainer, 'you're the most discriminatory and xenophobic fandom that I've ever encountered. At least other fandoms haven't invented a redundant motto that might as well be called the pragmatic serum of denial. Why can you not accept that the world does not wish to share your obsession?' The obsessive reflected for a while, and finally spoke as follows: 'I'm quite willing to let you have an opinion. It is just quite clear to me that you have not basked in my passion long enough as to have a credible opinion about it, hiding as you do behind your wall. To love and to tolerate is written in my passion.' The abstainer was quite ready; he had a wide range of experience. 'Obsessive', he said, 'tell me the truth; why do you do the strange things that you do? You pick out holes in the canon of your own obsession and sing only of woe. You frighten all those that report of your howling. You shriek and scream to your peers in a way that is horrible to witness. It seems to everyone, clever or stupid, that you're wailing rather than appreciating. Any other individual attracted by wrongdoing likes the cover of darkness for what they do. But you advertise it to the world on every board and stream. You accuse me of hiding behind a wall, but what do you do? You detach yourself from reality and box yourself off with your kind; you label all those that disagree as a troll and consider yourself a cult. And another thing: to love and to tolerate is not once uttered in your obsession; it was coined by your ancestors and should remain there, for you yourselves do not obey the ethos, much less those that dislike you.' The obsessive listened for a very long time, and became justly angry. He said, 'You're called an abstainer, but you could better be described as a troll because you talk too much against what I like. Give your tongue a rest! You think you've got the day to yourself. Now let me have my turn! Be quiet now, and let me speak; I'll get my revenge on you. And listen to how I can defend myself by plain truth without verbiage. You say that I pick holes in my own canon; this I cannot deny. But this is because it often interferes with my own ideas and constructions, my works of fan-fiction are often wounded by revelation. Those that report on what we do are not understanding what we do; they wrongly believe that we are fanatics of a third generation or first; this could not be further from the truth! The fourth is our domain, and we must educate those that wrongly perceive us as fanatics of the aforementioned incorrect past-years. But hold: you say that I am attracted by wrongdoing, but I fully embody love and toleration: all are welcome in the herd and we do nothing to be frowned upon. It is not to detach ourselves from reality, but to make reality a better place that we lay our claim with our passion. We do too love and tolerate, and this message comes directly from our great moral compass; the passion that we have tells us what to feel and think, troll!' The abstainer kept all this in his mind, and considered for a long time what he might say to follow it; because he was frustrated at the responses that he had received. He regretted that he had let the argument get so far, and was afraid that his answer would not be effectively delivered on the obsessive. But nevertheless he spoke out boldly; because it is wise to put on a brave show in front of one's enemy rather than giving up out of cowardice. And therefore, although the abstainer was irritated, he made a bold speech: 'Obsessive,' he said, 'why do you continue to embarrass yourself in front of the world? You say that you have the right to be angered by the canon for it threatens your fan-creation. Does this not sound in the least bit hypocritical to you? Your formation owes itself to your obsession, and yet you choose now the route of oppression. It is curious indeed to see you growing melancholy when more information leaks from your overflowing well, for you could just as easily shelter yourself from it by standing tall. You say that those that report on what you do do not understand what it is that you do, and yet look at what it is that you do: is it incorrect for them to accuse you of being the conglomerate mass-gathering of lonely-hearts candidates, or of avatars and obsession-personas, of carrying products much out-grown and of polarising the internet? But what, you say that you do nothing that should be frowned upon! This is surely a jest, for you do nothing that should not be frowned upon. You spend days on end discussing your obsession, which, as a wise man said, only breeds an obsession for greater contempt. You take that which is young and make it old; you bring sex to your obsession and flood the world with its mature vulgarity. You apply needless smut where innocence once prevailed. You are convinced that all females are inclined to lusting for the same sex; your twisted romantic notions are the result of years of sexual repression. More than this, you say that you will use your obsession to make the world a better place, but this is the capital irony, for the reality that you strive for is so detached from reality. You cannot hope to change the world with your obsession and only serve to frustrate and anger those that rightfully view you as a plague.' The obsessive listened, and took in all this argument word for word, and then considered how he might best find a defensible answer; because anyone who is afraid of being ridiculed when arguing a case must consider things very carefully. 'You ask me', said the obsessive, 'why I continue to embarrass myself in front of the world, and yet it is me who is embarrassed by the world. I am part of a movement to break new ground; to abandon gender stereotypes and to conquer evil and hatred. The world has hurt me dearly, but I shall attribute my moral philosophy to my passion; if the world cannot understand that, then that is the fault of the world, not I. But alas! You accuse me of irrational behaviour when canon overbears me; but you must understand that working with great effort on something to have it made obsolete is great cause for alarm! You chide in my ear like a deceitful beast, suggesting that our meetings are dangerous and irregular; but they are no more irregular than any gathering of like-minded individuals, and the only practice of our cult is toleration and kindness. But more! To discuss our passion unites us and makes us stronger; by the day more discover what it is that we so strongly encourage. Conversation enlightens and similarity breeds friendship; would you accuse the bard-player of fine music to withhold from his instrument, for its divinations shall be tainted by its continuous ringing? Nay, you would encourage practice, and our practice is most encouraging. How cruel of you, abstainer, to think that we are all purveyors of smut and vice. Indeed, while this is a part of our unit, most of what you see is, at the very least, well crafted and a much-encouraged feat of expressionism. Moreover, the females of our passion have not had their sexuality explained! It would be incorrect and offensive to suggest that they are not lusting for the same sex. And, to strike you most frugally, you say that we cannot change reality, and yet we have made great advances; our cause has been reported on and our voice is being heard by the creators of our passion. Your assertion is incorrect, wall-dweller! Love and tolerate etc. Hah! Your words elicit no aggression from me; I am impervious to your plague-speech. What do you think of that? Have you been cornered yet? Have you been fairly beaten? ' 'Not at all!' said the abstainer, 'you must listen to the other side. This debate hasn't been submitted to judgement yet. But keep quiet and listen to me now! I'll see to it that your speech is refuted by a single statement.' 'That would not be fair,' spoke the obsessive, 'you have spoken enough and at length most suffocating. Let me speak once again of your treachery. I am in no way obsessed with my passion to the point of confirming your cruel retort through ignoble repetition. You are frustrated by what you see because you do not understand it; I say that, should you one day dare emerge from behind your wall you would see much overflowing water at my well that could quench your thirst. You would acknowledge the enormous glowing eyes of my passion; the trotting legs of progression from my passion; the detailed intricacies of the prose of my passion; the talent and articulation of those that invest in my passion; the brilliant tonal resonance of my passion; the life-changing abilities of my passion; the incomparable development of those that frequent my passion; the cult of kindness that has formed in the wake of my passion. I accuse you with little doubt in my heart that your rejection of my passion stems from your inability to embrace your inner passion.' At these words the abstainer was almost entirely lost for inspiration, and searched desperately for ideas, to see if there was anything else he could do apart from weeping. He had to find an answer to this point, or fall behind completely; and it is very hard to fight against true love and toleration. Someone who finds himself in dire straits must tackle the problem by resorting to cunning, and is forced to dissimulate; he has to embroider and wrap things up, if the mouth is to gloss things over so the heart inside can't be seen. And it is easy for a speech to go wrong where the mouth is saying something inconsistent with the heart. But nevertheless, in spite of this, there is a possible way out if anyone can make use of it, because intelligence is never so sharp as when its best plan is in doubt; it reaches its height of cunning when it feels most at risk. 'Obsessive,' he said, 'you have become grossly overstuffed with your own rambling. Had I slipped out from underneath your nose mid-way you would scarcely have acknowledged my disappearance, so smitten were you by your robust ability to make the same argument repeatedly. I shall not engage with your tireless obsession to the degree that you hope, and shall instead use my best judgement to combat your most contentious points. You say that you are embarrassed by the world, but when you could be fighting for change you sit inside and furiously illustrate your obsession. You are breaking no new-ground; you simply confirm that gender stereotypes exist with valid reason. You believe that your opinions outweigh those of canon-law, and so you commit the greatest act of iconoclasm by defacing that which you claim to adore. More than this, you defend your gatherings as social Flâneur, and yet the cult of kindness that you preach of is typical of a Cult of Personality, exercising biased propaganda in exchange for resolute piety. Alas! This is not yet concluded, for you say that by the setting of the sun your members grow, but this is not through personal volition; they are coerced into administering your poison through their inability to escape from you. The noble musician plays to entertain; you are the polygamist of the internet increasing his numbers to consume and convert. More! You defend your obsession as being the proprietor of vice only as a deviation to the norm, and yet hold the artistic merits of this gross display in reverence. But wait—you must listen to something else on the subject. When you speak of the females of your obsession you bite the hand that feeds you; for the intention of your obsession was never to satisfy your repression, and your predictable molestation of the matter at hand is what is truly alarming. It is a shameful practice and you are all secretly ashamed of your obsession. I dare say that you sit atop your overflowing well for fear that moving will cause it to burst forth in a greater drove, flooding the world external to your myopic masquerade.' 'Hold on! Hold on!' said the obsessive, 'your whole approach is dishonest. You manipulate all your words so that everything you say seems right; you gloss over everything, and what you say is so plausible and charming that everyone who hears it thinks that you're telling the truth. Hold on! Hold on! You'll meet resistance; now it will become very clear that your seemingly rational argument is a pack of lies, when your dishonesty is exposed! You say that I make the same argument repeatedly, but this is not true; my passion has many flawless facets to its face that to leave any stone unturned would be to insult my moral compass. You cannot truly appreciate my passion unless you admire its deeper meaning: you would not stand outside a great cathedral and admire the steeples; you would step inside and approach the pulpit. You insist that you shall not engage with my tireless passion, and yet look at what you have done! You are foolish now, and in need of chiding, for you have undermined your own argument. Now you shall listen to me! To illustrate my passion is not to do nothing; for by illustrating I am making a contribution to a greater whole. How amusing that you would seek to alienate me by suggesting that gender stereotypes are to be enforced! I am pridefully disposed towards my passion, and I do not fear embarrassment and ridicule; I should be honoured and awarded for being secure enough in myself to openly celebrate my passion! I commit no such atrocity by defacing that which I adore; by rejecting my passion, you deface that which your own kind has brought you. What's more, you accuse my cult as being a Cult of Personality, but this could not be farther from the truth! The propaganda that you speak of does not exist anywhere but in your imagination; our campaign is for love and toleration.' The obsessive found himself struggling for air but he continued in the same manner. 'Hold your tongue!' he said, 'for I am not yet finished with your punishment! You say that our growing number of members are coerced by poison; how dare you insinuate such gross exaggeration? Our passion is celebrated by greater numbers who embrace their inner-self. You have been found wanting access to my passion but fear the consequences! You would only have looked at the vulgar images of my passion if you yourself were interested in doing so; or out of spite, for, as a wise man said, those that seek the worst out of something are extracting from the lesser parable. Hold you! For I am not yet finished: you have accused me of masquerading towards my passion, but if one of the two us wears a mask, it is not I! Your mask is resolute and rigid, shielded as it is behind your wall; you play the part of the wretched wrangler stealing the flock of the shepherd!' The abstainer was furious, and also rather embarrassed, because the obsessive had criticized him for the place he sat and resided, behind the wall, and he sat and thought for a time, and was well aware in his reflection that anger deprives a man of his wits, because anger stirs up the blood in the heart so that it flows like a raging torrent and overwhelms the heart completely, so that it can't do anything but feel, and so loses all its insight, so it cannot see what is true or right. The abstainer considered, and let his anger subside; it would be better for him to speak calmly than to use angry words. 'Obsessive,' he said, 'now listen here! You'll fall, you're on a slippery slope! You suggest that I cannot truly appreciate your passion unless I witness it in its entirety, but do you not see that this is defensive to the point of excessiveness? Accept that not all who reside in this digital landscape wish to see your obsession at every turn of the head! Like the hydra, you grow many heads to chatter away in my ear musings of your obsession, but forget not that each arguing head cut from your body will grow into many more, and you shall lose yourself in your own pomposity. But hold, for I am not yet through: you compare your obsession to the beauty of a church, but there is no central deity to your obsession other than she who is held in great reverence, and she is of mortal coil. You are blasphemous and self-glorifying; your Cult of Personality ascends she of great influence to a level of worship. I am not yet finished! You say that you are not embarrassed by your passion, but many are embarrassed by you. You walk the Elysian aisles gripping hand-me-down products made for younger years; you invest your coin on expensive rags tied together that could be better spent placing a lid on your overflowing well. When the sun rises you enter your hole and emerge only for scraps; on the Holy Day when rest should be encouraged you observe repeats of your obsession and feed your obsession. You reject gender stereotypes, but for no purpose of irony; I dare say that you are an undeveloped embryo who has not yet witnessed maturity. You are called many names, all of which are true, and you cannot deny these epithets under any pretence other than of love and of toleration, your warped instinctive retort. Your id has overpowered your ego; you are content to revert to infancy.' 'Obsessive,' the abstainer continued, 'why do you so fear the truth? I may have seen the worst that your obsession has to offer, but many of your obsession encourage such repression. You formalise your bestial obsession with anthropomorphism; you seek to justify your behaviour under the catch-all promise of acceptance. But your acceptance is of humiliation; now listen to me, for I know that you shall be ostracised from the world soon enough, and all who speak of you shall snigger. The parable that I extract from is one that you refuse to omit from your scripture. I wear no mask, and sit behind my wall not out of ignorance, but out of wishing to avoid your plague-speech. I fear that being in your vicinity shall corrupt my rational mind; I would rather my wall crumble upon me than to be associated with your foul design.' The obsessive was angry and ready for a fight when he heard this, his eyes bulging. 'Abstainer,' he said, 'you accuse me of not living by the truth, but the truth is that I am welcoming what I am. You are insecure about your inner-self; I embrace what I am and do not fear your chiding. You have little to no effect on me; your words are blunted spears crashing upon bronzed shields. Hold! For you cannot launch into violent attack against our most revered mistress; her position at the head of our hierarchy is deserved. For she brought us our passion, and as a result we are her greatest servants. Insult her not with your cowardice! But greater of offence still is your incorrect chiding of how I express my passion; you say that I buy tokens of the Elysian plain, but I pay the Styxian toll fairly. Why should I place a lid upon the well when I can use its waters to give life to my passion? To watch the repeats of my passion is to pay great attention to my passion; I pay tribute to my passion and become most enamoured of passion! When those that choose to use wicked words utter their curses of us, we are unaffected; for love and tolerance is the key to a better future. But even more dastardly a claim: I do not revert to infancy! It is maturity embodied to be comfortable expressing my passion! I should hope that your wall does collapse upon you; for it would crush your mask and your incorrect opinion!' Hearing this, the abstainer would gladly have attacked with sword and spear-point if he had been out from behind his wall; but since he couldn't do anything better, he fought with his clever tongue. 'You do so fear my chiding,' the abstainer said, 'for you continue this debate and seek to suffocate my argument through your flawed rhetoric. My effect on you may not be peripheral, but after I have left you alone on your well you will consider my words and be greatly wounded by them. When I leave this day I will be protected by my wall; you shall be drowned in your weakness. Your revered mistress is no more, for even she abandoned you, and you should feel only contempt for yourself because of this. My prayer of greatest mirth would be to see your well overflow and destroy your passion; it would please me beyond comparison. Love and toleration is a myth invented by those without justifiable means of defending themselves; you live upon a childish reverie and breathe in pipe-dreams. Should my wall collapse, it would be of my own doing; I would weaken the foundations if it would rid me of your presence!' The obsessive did not pause for long, but came back with a bold and robust answer. 'What!' he said, 'do you consider yourself to be a greater force than I? For I will not think on you for a second after you have left my presence! Your words are twisted and flawed, and thus I will feel no great loss or sadness when you vanish once again from my sight. You give yourself credit too great to think that I would fear your wrath; you are but a fly to be swatted. But lo, I am most angered by your lies; the maker of our moral compass did not abandon us, for she had business elsewhere, and her involvement in my passion is still seen to this day. You accuse my dreams of being childish, but what are you being by sitting behind your wall and striking me? My well shall never overflow; and if it should, we will erect more wells, not allow the spillage to damage our foundation. Let the water spill only to topple your wall and crush you beneath; you and your anger and hate! You and your abstinence of love and toleration!' The abstainer heard this, and poked his head out from atop the wall, and sat higher than he did before. 'Obsessive,' he said, 'be careful now! I won't plead against you any longer, because here the right line of argument escapes you. You are so hurt by my words that you will cry yourself to sleep while you cloyingly brush the hair of your obsession. You cling to the creator of your obsession as if she is your Queen; reject fealty to her, for it makes you incredulous. By staying behind my wall I am intelligent; by educating you of your failings I am informative. I love and tolerate, but in ways not derived from your passion; I have adopted these morals by life choices and social nicety, and I in no way require your childish passion to demonstrate nor justify them.' When he had said this, he perched atop his wall and then tuned his voice and blogged so piercingly and so clearly that it was seen far and near. And so many other denizens of the internet both large and small came to his aid at once; because it seemed to them that he had defeated the obsessive. They muttered in all sorts of ways, and there was rejoicing from behind the wall just as people jeer at a man who plays at dice and loses the game. When the obsessive heard this, he said, 'Why can you all not just leave us in peace? What are these new arrivals here for? It seems to me that you're leading an army against me; when all I purvey is love and toleration, you bring me war and ignorance most infuriating. If I call up a hue and cry against you, I'll lead such a strong army against you myself that your pride will collapse beneath the weight of my passion. We will still welcome you to the herd but only if you submit!' The obsessive spoke very aggressively, since although he hadn't resorted to his own army so quickly, he nevertheless wanted to respond to the abstainer with what he said; for many men are not very effective with a sharp spear and shield, but nevertheless on a battlefield they make their enemies sweat with terror by bold speeches and behaviour. The reasonable, because he was enterprising, had arrived there to support the abstainer, since although he did not speak often, his throat could produce words clearer than any other, which provided him with great authority. The reasonable was considered very wise, as although he'd been bred healthily on a diet of internet fads, he had been reared among humans, and brought his wisdom from there. 'Listen!' he said, 'let me speak! What, do you want to break this peace, and annoy the entire internet in the process? Few obsessives will ever be able to see the other side of the wall; they sit upon their well for eternity. Even fewer abstainers have the right to criticise, for they hide behind their wall and peer over the top with the intention of causing harm. The damage of the obsessive is indirect as much as the damage of the abstainer is direct; both cause great weakness to the foundation of that which they thrive upon. Let it be, and come to an agreement, and go straight to your judgement, and let the sentence put an end to this argument, for you must all learn to deal with it and move on.' And so judgement was passed by reason, and obsession and abstinence were forced to relinquish. Theirs was a debate most grand and great, and reasonable action played digital magistrate. I left them there for I perceived their debate to be over. I cannot tell you any more about how further events transpired; see for yourself which of the two you hold the greatest respect for. Finis~
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Inspired by a very real debate that I encountered on a forum several months ago.
Indebted to Medieval Debate Poetry, here is a poem about bronies and those that seek to thwart them. It is styled around "The Owl and the Nightingale", featuring the same syntactical form throughout.
The idea in these poems is that an observer encounters two individuals having a debate and listens to their argument become increasingly overblown. At the end a reasonable entity enters to try and defuse the situation. In this sense, the debate deals with two extremes of the pony spectrum:
The Obsessive = The Obsessive Pony Fan.
The Abstainer = The Abstaining Anti-Pony Fan.
Should anyone read this, I am a part of the fandom and I don't particularly stand on either side of this debate. This is literature and does not necessarily encompass my own opinions and beliefs.
*The points raised here could realistically be applied to any fandom.
Indebted to Medieval Debate Poetry, here is a poem about bronies and those that seek to thwart them. It is styled around "The Owl and the Nightingale", featuring the same syntactical form throughout.
The idea in these poems is that an observer encounters two individuals having a debate and listens to their argument become increasingly overblown. At the end a reasonable entity enters to try and defuse the situation. In this sense, the debate deals with two extremes of the pony spectrum:
The Obsessive = The Obsessive Pony Fan.
The Abstainer = The Abstaining Anti-Pony Fan.
Should anyone read this, I am a part of the fandom and I don't particularly stand on either side of this debate. This is literature and does not necessarily encompass my own opinions and beliefs.
*The points raised here could realistically be applied to any fandom.
© 2012 - 2024 Cuddlepug
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For once, someone sees both
sides of the conflict.
sides of the conflict.