I want to talk about the self-marketed saviors of thought itself. The would-be, wannabe geniuses who think they've invented the intellectual wheel. You know the type - they strut onto the stage of public discourse, puffed up like peacocks, declaring they've discovered fire when all they've really done is strike a match someone else invented.

When these intellectual glory hunters get called out on their bullshit, they don't just double down. They take a hard turn into the murky waters of far-right politics and extremism.

It’s a special breed of cognitive dissonance. The kind that turns supposed free-thinkers into trite, tired culture war soldiers faster than you can say "Richard Dawkins." It's a pattern so predictable you could set your watch by it, if your watch ran on ego and insecurity.

These intellectual Christopher Columbuses keep stumbling onto continents of ideas that have been inhabited for centuries, planting their flags and declaring "I discovered this!" And when someone dares to point out that these ideas have, in fact, been around for a while, our intrepid explorers go fucking nuclear.

You've seen them. Hell, you've probably retweeted them. They're the ones who package age-old wisdom in shiny new TED Talk wrappers, who slap their names on philosophical concepts older than their great-grandparents, who stand on the shoulders of giants and declare themselves the tallest person in the room.

When the applause starts to die down, when people start poking holes in their revolutionary ideas, they don't gracefully exit stage left. No, they dive headfirst into the mosh pit of far-right identity politics and extremism. It's like watching a magician whose rabbit has escaped the hat, decide to saw the audience in half instead.

Take Bari Weiss, for instance. She's made quite a name for herself as a champion of what she calls the "intellectual dark web" - a loose collection of thinkers who supposedly challenge the status quo. Weiss, a former New York Times opinion editor, burst onto the scene with an article that read like a breathless exposé of a secret society of free thinkers. In reality, it was more like a who's who of middlebrow contrarians with large Twitter followings.

Weiss presents this motley crew of podcasters, YouTubers, and self-help gurus as some groundbreaking concept, a brave new world of discourse that's going to save us all from the echo chambers of modern political thought. She paints a picture of these thinkers as noble martyrs, sacrificing their reputations on the altar of free speech. But let's be real - most of these folks have larger platforms and bank accounts than the average New York Times subscriber.

This "intellectual dark web" isn't peddling anything new. It's a rebranding of centrism, with a dash of libertarianism and a sprinkle of conservative talking points.

When people started pointing out that her "dark web" was about as unheard of as a fucking spoon, Weiss didn't take a step back and reflect. No, she doubled down harder than a blackjack player with a trust fund. She began flirting with ideas and figures from the far right, all while maintaining a veneer of "centrism" and "nuance."

Weiss's subsequent career moves read like a playbook for the pseudo-intellectual grifter. She dramatically resigned from the New York Times, penning a letter that painted her as a victim of cancel culture - never mind that she had one of the most prestigious platforms in journalism. She then launched a newsletter on Substack, because nothing says "silenced voices" like a direct line to thousands of paying subscribers.

Throughout it all, Weiss has wrapped herself in the flag of "free speech" and "challenging orthodoxy." She positions every criticism as an attack on open discourse, every pushback as proof of a stifling intellectual environment.

The true irony is that Weiss and her ilk, for all their talk of challenging orthodoxies, have created their own. It's an orthodoxy where "free speech" means "freedom from criticism," where "intellectual honesty" means "agreeing with me," and where "cancel culture" means "people on Twitter saying mean things about my bad takes."

Weiss's "intellectual dark web" is less a fortress of free thought and more a carefully curated echo chamber for those who think Joe Rogan is a modern-day Socrates. It's a Udemy course in repackaging old ideas as edgy and novel, all while positioning oneself as a brave truth-teller in a world gone mad. And when it all starts to wear thin? Well, there's always the welcoming arms of the far right, ready to embrace anyone willing to rail against the perceived excesses of the left.

Then we have Jordan Peterson, the Canadian psychologist who went from being an unremarkable academic to a self-help guru for the YouTube generation faster than you can say "postmodern neo-Marxism." Peterson's claim to fame wasn't some groundbreaking psychological insight or a revolutionary self-help technique. No, his ticket to stardom was good old-fashioned transphobia dressed up in academic jargon.

Peterson burst onto the public stage by railing against a Canadian bill that would add gender identity to the list of prohibited grounds of discrimination. Suddenly, this previously unknown professor was everywhere, crying wolf about compelled speech and the supposed death of Western civilization.

With his newfound notoriety, Peterson scored a book deal and started peddling a blend of banal self-help advice ("clean your room") and warmed-over conservative talking points. He talks about archetypes and order as if he'd personally dug up Carl Jung and absorbed his essence. But let's be real - Peterson's "insights" are about as revolutionary as suggesting water might be wet.

When critics pointed out that "stand up straight" wasn't exactly groundbreaking life advice, Peterson didn't take a step back and reflect. No, he doubled down, diving deeper into the murky waters of gender politics and social hierarchies. He wrapped increasingly reactionary ideas in a cloak of pseudo-intellectual babble, like a philosopher who got lost in the self-help section of a bookstore and emerged as a garden-variety right-wing pundit.

And let's not forget Elon Musk, the poster boy for tech mediocrity masquerading as exceptionalism. Musk has done an impressive job of convincing a lot of people that he single-handedly dragged humanity into the electric future, armed with nothing but a physics degree and a PayPal fortune.

Musk's origin story reads like a Silicon Valley fairy tale. A plucky South African immigrant who taught himself to code, sold his first company for millions, then decided to disrupt the auto industry because, hey, why the fuck not? It's a narrative that fits neatly into the Silicon Valley mythology of the lone genius disrupting industries through sheer force of will and a healthy disregard for the status quo.

But Musk's "genius inventor" narrative is about as accurate as claiming Steve Jobs personally soldered together the first iPhone or Mark Zuckerberg invented human connection. The reality is far less cinematic. Musk didn't found Tesla; he was an early investor who muscled out the actual founders. He didn't invent the electric car; that honor goes to inventors from the 1800s. Hell, he's not even the chief engineer he claims to be – that's just a vanity title he gave himself, a snot-nosed brat playing dress-up in a lab coat.

What Musk did do was take existing technologies, throw obscene amounts of money at them, and market the hell out of the results. He's less an inventor and more a very effective hype man with a knack for convincing people that buying his products is somehow a moral imperative.

But God forbid you point any of this out. When people started questioning his genius narrative, highlighting the countless engineers and predecessors who paved the way for Tesla, Musk didn't take it like a captain of industry. He didn't retreat to his factories to prove the doubters wrong through innovation and hard work. No, he took to Twitter, now his $44 billion personal playground, and began his transformation into the world's richest shitposter.

Musk's Twitter feed became an embarassment of middle-aged edgelord behavior. He started spouting increasingly erratic and right-wing talking points, as if he was getting his political education from a YouTube comments section. From covid skepticism that would make an anti-vaxxer blush to transphobic fuckery that could have been ripped straight from a TERF manifesto, Musk seemed determined to speedrun every bad take of the 2020s.

He railed against "wokeness" like a Fox News host who just learned the term. He embraced crypto bro culture with the enthusiasm of an undergrad who just discovered Ayn Rand. He even waded into geopolitics, offering galaxy-brain solutions to complex international conflicts that made armchair generals everywhere cringe.

The true irony is that Musk, for all his talk of saving humanity, seems more interested in being perceived as humanity's savior. He's built a cult of personality so strong that he could probably convince his followers that his next "revolutionary" product is a car that runs on petrol.

Then there's J.K. Rowling, the author who took the world by storm with her Harry Potter series, only to decide that being a beloved children's author wasn't enough – she needed to be a controversial public figure too. Rowling's story initially read like a fairy tale: a struggling single mother who wrote in cafes and became one of the best-selling authors of all time. It was the kind of rags-to-riches narrative that would make Cinderella's fairy godmother blush.

Now, let's be clear - Rowling's impact on children's literature is undeniable. She created a cultural phenomenon that spawned movies, theme parks, and more merchandise than you could fit in the Room of Requirement. But somewhere along the line, a strange narrative began to emerge - the idea that Rowling had practically invented children's literature, as if kids were just staring at blank pages before Harry Potter came along.

This is, to put it mildly, a load of hippogriff shit. Children's literature has been a rich and vibrant field for centuries. From Lewis Carroll's Wonderland to C.S. Lewis's Narnia, from Roald Dahl's chocolate factories to Ursula K. Le Guin's Earthsea, the world of children's and young adult literature was hardly waiting for Rowling to wave her magic wand and bring it to life.

But when this was pointed out, when her place in a long tradition was highlighted rather than her role as its inventor, Rowling didn't just politely disagree or acknowledge her predecessors. No, she seemed to take it as a personal affront, as if recognizing other authors somehow diminished her own achievements.

And then, in a plot twist worthy of her novels, Rowling decided to dive headfirst into a cauldron of gender politics. She emerged not as a champion of equality, as one might expect from the author who gave us Hermione Granger, but as a vocal critic of trans rights. It was like watching Dumbledore decide the best way to defend Hogwarts was to build a wall and make the Muggles pay for it.

Rowling's descent into transphobic rhetoric was as swift as it was shocking. She started with a few "just asking questions" tweets and quickly escalated to full-blown essays espousing debunked theories and fear-mongering about trans women. It was as if she'd traded her enchanted quill for a TERF manifesto.

Her arguments were a greatest hits of transphobic talking points, dressed up in the language of feminism and concern for women's safety. She positioned herself as a brave truth-teller, standing up against a mob of "woke" activists. In reality, she was punching down at one of the most marginalized groups in society, all while crying victim from her castle of wealth and influence.

Fans who had grown up with her books felt betrayed. LGBTQ+ organizations that had once praised the inclusivity of her wizarding world now found themselves condemning its creator. Even the stars of the Harry Potter films distanced themselves from her views.

But rather than reflect on why so many were hurt by her words, Rowling did what the intellectual narcissists do best: she doubled down. She painted herself as a martyr for free speech, conveniently ignoring that criticism is not censorship. She claimed to be "protecting women," while ignoring the voices of countless women telling her she was doing the opposite.

It’s a case study for intellectual narcissism. Rowling seemed incapable of accepting that she might be wrong, that her children’s books about wizards didn't make her an expert on trans issues. Instead, she wrapped herself in the cloak of faux-feminist concern, using her massive platform to spread misinformation and fear.

The true tragedy is that Rowling, who once inspired millions with tales of standing up against bigotry and fighting for the marginalized, now finds herself on the wrong side of history. She's traded the legacy of a beloved author for the infamy of a culture war figurehead.

What we're seeing here is a pattern, a trend as predictable as a Marvel movie plot, but far less entertaining. When these self-proclaimed intellectual innovators face criticism, when their claims to originality are challenged, they don't respond with the humility or reflection one might expect from true scholars or thinkers. Instead, they double down, they dig in, and increasingly, they drift towards the fringes of right-wing thought, a domain where logic, argument, and intelligent discourse are often anathema, where they'll never be challenged again – or at least, not in ways they can't easily dismiss.

This drift isn't a sudden leap. It's a gradual slide, a series of small steps that, viewed individually, might seem innocuous. It starts with a defensive posture, a knee-jerk reaction to pushback. Then comes the flirtation with "politically incorrect" ideas, framed as brave truth-telling. Before you know it, they're guests on right-wing talk shows, railing against the "tyranny" of academic consensus or "woke culture."

It’s not hard to see the perverse logic behind it. These are people who have built their brands, their very identities, on the idea of their own exceptionalism. They're not just smart; they're revolutionary. They're not just successful; they're visionaries. They're not just authors or academics or entrepreneurs; they're prophets of a new age, voices crying out in the wilderness of our benighted times. To admit that their ideas might not be as original as they thought, to acknowledge their place in a long tradition rather than as its culmination, would be to give up the very thing that makes them special, that sets them apart from the common herd of thinkers and doers.

It's a form of intellectual narcissism so profound that it warps reality around it. In their minds, they're not just right; they're righteously, world-changingly right. And if the world doesn't recognize this? Well, clearly, the world is wrong.

So instead of engaging with criticism, instead of participating in the give-and-take that characterizes true intellectual discourse, they construct a narrative of persecution. In this story, they're not being critiqued; they're being silenced. They're not facing valid criticism; they're being attacked by the mob, by the "woke" left, by the forces of political correctness gone mad. Their ideas aren't being debunked; they're being suppressed by a vast conspiracy of academics, journalists, and "elites" who fear the revolutionary power of their thoughts.

It's a narrative that turns every critique into evidence of their importance, every pushback into proof of their persecution. Suddenly, a negative book review isn't just a difference of opinion; it's an attempt to "cancel" them. A challenge to their ideas isn't part of normal academic discourse; it's an attack on free speech itself. They're not just thinkers anymore; they're martyrs for the cause of intellectual freedom.

And in this narrative, the far right becomes a convenient ally. After all, the right has been pushing the idea of "liberal bias" in academia and media for decades. They've long positioned themselves as defenders of "traditional values" against the onslaught of progressivism. For our beleaguered intellectual narcissists, the right offers a ready-made framework for their persecution complex.

Moreover, the right offers something else: an audience. An audience that's primed to receive them as conquering heroes, as defectors from the "liberal elite" who've seen the light. An audience that's eager to embrace anyone who'll confirm their biases and stroke their resentments. An audience that's willing to buy their books, attend their lectures, and boost their social media posts – all while nodding along to increasingly extreme ideas.

It's a Faustian bargain, to be sure. In exchange for this support, these intellectuals often find themselves espousing ideas far removed from their original fields of expertise. The psychologist becomes a gender theorist, the fantasy author a commentator on trans rights, the tech entrepreneur a political pundit. But for many, it seems a small price to pay for continued relevance and adulation.

These intellectual narcissists often end up parroting some of the oldest and most regressive ideas in the book. They trade the hard work of genuine insight for the cheap applause of contrarianism. They swap the nuanced discussions of the seminar room for the soundbite-driven world of political punditry.

What we're witnessing is a kind of intellectual devolution. Minds that could have contributed to genuine progress and understanding instead become mired in reactionary thought. Voices that could have added nuance to complex debates instead become megaphones for simplistic ideologies. And all because they couldn't bear the thought that they might not be the smartest person in every room.

How do we navigate a world where self-proclaimed visionaries dominate discourse, and where challenging them seems to push them, huffing, puffing and sulking further into extremism? How do we guard against their worst impulses and prevent ourselves from following their well-trodden path strewn with intellectual dogshit?

The answer, paradoxically, is in embracing a certain kind of intellectual humility. This isn't self-deprecation or the denial our own capabilities. Rather, it's an understanding that innovation rarely happens in isolation, that most "new" ideas are really just novel combinations or applications of existing concepts. We all stand on the shoulders of giants, and acknowledging this doesn't diminish our own contributions – it enriches them.

True progress is more often evolutionary than revolutionary. It's the result of countless small improvements, unexpected connections, and collaborative efforts, rather than singular strokes of isolated genius. We are, after all, part of a larger intellectual ecosystem, not lone wolves howling our brilliance into the void.

1. Acknowledging our debts: Every idea we have is built on a foundation laid by others. Recognizing this isn't weakness; it's intellectual honesty.

2. Welcoming criticism: Critique isn't an attack; it's an opportunity to refine and improve our ideas. The strongest concepts are those that have been stress-tested by rigorous debate.

3. Staying curious: There's always more to learn, always another perspective to consider. The moment we think we know everything is the moment we stop growing.

4. Valuing collaboration: Great ideas often emerge from the collision of different viewpoints and expertise. No one person has all the answers.

5. Being willing to change our minds: Changing our stance in light of new evidence isn't "flip-flopping"; it's the essence of intellectual growth.

Genuine breakthroughs do happen, and we should celebrate them when they do. But we should approach such claims with a critical eye and a sense of historical context. We need to be willing to dig deeper, to look beyond the headlines and sound bites to understand the full picture.

There are simple questions we can ask:

• What's truly new about this idea, and what parts of it build on existing knowledge?

• Who else has worked on similar concepts, and how does this build on or differ from their work?

• What are the potential flaws or limitations of this idea?

• How might this concept be misused or misinterpreted?

• What perspectives might we be missing in our evaluation of this idea?

We can and should call out not just the initial bullshit, but the subsequent slide into reactionary politics that often follows when these self-proclaimed geniuses face criticism. We have to identify the pattern of intellectual narcissism leading to extremism, and be willing to name it when we see it.

The world is full of genuinely amazing ideas, insights, and concepts. But they rarely come in the neat, self-contained packages that our intellectual narcissists would have us believe. Real innovation is messy, complex, built on layers of prior knowledge and effort. It's collaborative and cumulative, often emerging from the spaces between disciplines rather than from a single brilliant mind.

And that's what makes these ideas truly valuable. Their complexity is a feature, not a bug. It reflects the intricacy of the problems they're trying to solve, the depth of thought that's gone into them. By embracing this complexity, by understanding the collaborative nature of progress, we open ourselves up to a richer, more nuanced understanding of the world.

The antidote to intellectual narcissism isn't to stop valuing intelligence or to cease celebrating achievements. It's to develop a more mature, nuanced understanding of how progress really happens, value the hard work of genuine insight over the flash of self-promotion and understand that admitting what we don't know is often the first step to discovering something truly new.

Where does all this leave us? Knee-deep in a swamp of pseudo-intellectual bullshit, that's where. But we don't have to keep wading through it.

The next time some self-proclaimed thought leader tries to sell you on their "revolutionary" idea, do yourself a favor: take a step back and ask, "Is this actually new, or is it just the same old shit in a shiny package?" Chances are, it's the latter.

And when these intellectual glory hunters inevitably veer right into the realms of culture wars and identity politics, recognize it for what it is: a desperate attempt to maintain relevance in a world that's starting to see through their smoke and mirrors.

Real innovation, real progress, doesn't come from lone geniuses pulling ideas out of their asses. It comes from collaboration, from building on what came before, from the messy, unsexy work of actually engaging with complex ideas instead of just repackaging them for Twitter.

Stop giving these intellectual narcissists the attention they so desperately crave. Stop mistaking contrarianism for depth and provocation for insight. And for fuck's sake, let's stop pretending that drifting towards far-right talking points is some brave stand against the status quo.

We should value the kind of thinking that actually moves us forward. The kind that acknowledges its debts, that engages with criticism instead of dismissing it, that's more interested in finding truth than in being right.

Because that's what really matters. Not who can shout the loudest or come up with the catchiest sound bite, but who can contribute something meaningful to our collective understanding.

Don't buy into the bullshit. Don't retweet the provocations. Don't mistake the confidence for competence. Instead, dig deeper.

And maybe, just maybe, we can start shifting our attention to the ideas and thinkers who actually deserve it. Because in an intellectual wasteland full of degenerative noise, the most revolutionary act might just be taking the time to listen to the quiet voices of genuine insight.