Why would I — one who loathes writing (and that isn’t nearly strong enough) — begin a project such as this?

  • I embrace no fantasy that this will imbue accolades. On the contrary, I fully anticipate deprecation and derision leading to humiliation. Oddly, I can fully enjoy all of that negativity without any external input.
  • While I have acquired a certain amount of understanding and wisdom that may be of benefit (don’t we all feel this way?), it seems that the vast majority of people dramatically overestimate the value of their ideas. Why would I be any different?

So, if there is no expectation that it will benefit me, and there is no expectation that it will benefit others, then why? Simply put: I’ve been commanded. While I, like Jonah, have attempted to run away from the decree, in the end I must comply. The purpose is unknown to me. If I could foresee a purpose, the anticipated anguish might be partially mitigated. Were it possible, I would emulate an eleven year old boy at Nyack Boys School and request the headmaster thrash me with 50 lashes as a more expedient substitute for the usual punishment: spending my free time endlessly writing.

This is no more and no less than an act of faith.