A Fairytale That Starts Where Most Stories End
What happens when the institutions we trust forget their purpose?
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The rollercoaster of current events continues and the weather is warming up. I haven’t been able to find time to get into the garden any more than just getting my house plants outside for summer camp, and replace the sapling bald cypress so brutally felled by local wildlife. Put together this only adds up to one thing. Time for a fairytale! Do enjoy.
The Fallen Towers
Once upon a time, in a land called Intellect’s Hollow, there stood great towers of stone and glass that held the knowledge of ages. The Tower of Learning taught truths of star and soil; the Tower of Justice weighed hearts with fairness; the Tower of Healing mended broken bones and spirits. Folk from every corner trusted these towers, for they promised order and hope in a wild world.
But seasons turned sour. The keepers of the towers grew fond of power, not purpose. They carved new rules into the walls—rules that favored loud voices over quiet ones, rules that hoarded gold while fields lay barren. The Tower of Learning spouted riddles instead of facts; Justice’s scales tipped for whomever bleated of the greater sorrow even when it was fiction; Healing’s doors shut to any who questioned the cure. Folk whispered of betrayal, but whispers faded against stone.
One gray dawn, a storm came—not of rain, but of doubt. The folk of Intellect’s Hollow, weary of empty promises, turned their backs. No fire fell, no swords clashed—yet the towers crumbled, their foundations rotted by neglect. By dusk, only rubble remained, and Intellect’s Hollow stood silent, a land adrift.
Two children, siblings named Hazel and Juniper, from a small village called Sisua not far from where the towers fell, picked through the dust. They were not heroes—Hazel’s hands were callused from weeding gardens, Juniper’s boots patched from long walks and rough play. But both had dogged hearts and eyes that saw what others missed. “These stones,” Juniper said, kicking a shard, “they’re good blocks. The towers may have failed, but we can use them to build something new, something better.”
Their uncle Holbein, a tinker with oil-stained fingers, laughed. “Build? With what? The keepers left nothing but arguments.” Hazel grinned, “We can start with what’s true—people need to learn, to mend, to be fair. That’s the root they should have tended, not some fancy tower.”
They began in Thornwick’s square, not with grand plans but with questions. What did learning mean? Scrolls were a help, they agreed, but skills—how to sow, to forge, to think clear as a winter stream, that was bedrock. Juniper gathered the village youngins, teaching them stars by night. Hazel taught them sums by day, not in halls but under oaks. Holbein rigged a cart to carry tools, showing any who asked how to fix a wheel or carve a flute. Fees were small, and in no time, merchants and nobles covered those costs when it got them small chores done.
Word spread. From Mossvale came Eda, a healer who’d once served the towers but fled its greed. “Healing’s simple,” she said, “clean water, steady hands, honest words.” She taught mothers to bind wounds and brew fever-tea, sharing what the towers had locked away. From Ironholt trudged Cal, a judge of sorts, his beard gray as slate. “Justice isn’t scales,” he grunted, “it’s listening till the truth squeaks out.” He settled disputes in barns, not courts, weighing truth over nimble stories of sorrow.
The group became a spark. Villages joined Sisua and the remains of Intellect’s Hollow, less with fanfare than with work. Assumptions fell like old leaves—why build one tower when every hearth could teach? Why crown keepers when so often they became tyrants? They questioned deep: Did learning need walls? Not necessarily—truth grew in fields, forges, even arguments by firelight. Did justice need robes? No. They could add gravitas, but a clear eye was more important. Healing? It flowed from care and careful, tested remedies.
Yet shadows lingered. Some folk clung to the towers’ ghost, craving order. “We need leaders!” cried a learned aristocrat, his silks fraying. “Without towers, we’re lost!” Juniper faced him in the square. “Lost? Look around—your neighbors teach, mend, and judge. The towers of Intellect’s Hollow were full of leaders yet fell empty; we rebuilt the enlightenment ourselves.” His words stung, but eyes turned to the new ways—gardens blooming, quarrels fading, hands busy.
Others feared the work itself. “What if we fail?” whispered a weaver, her loom idle. Holbein clapped her shoulder. “Fail? Well, then we learn. The towers fell because they forgot how to bend.” He showed her how to mend her loom, and she wove a banner of tools and stars.
The rebuilding wasn’t swift. Mistakes piled high—a school roof leaked, a trade deal soured, a feud flared. But Hazel, Juniper, Holbein, Eda, and Cal had no castles to lose. They questioned each stumble: Why did this fail? What’s true beneath? A leaky roof meant poor planning—fix the plan, not the blame. A feud meant unheard voices—listen harder. Slowly, Intellect’s Hollow knit itself anew—not a tower, but a web of villages, each a spark of the old truths made fresh.
Years passed. Where towers once stood, meadows grew, dotted with workshops and hearths. The stone blocks were used to make home foundations, and a dam to tame the tides. Children learned by doing—sowing, building, and arguing well. Healers helped many and comforted those beyond hope; disputes ended with handshakes, not duels.
Hazel, now gray at the temples, sat one evening with Juniper, Holbein, Eda, and Cal. The square hummed—kids laughed, a tinker’s hammer rang, a healer sang. “No towers,” Hazel said, half-grinning. “Do you think the old keepers would call us fools now?”
Holbein snorted. “Fools? We’re the only ones who didn’t chase ghosts.”
Eda smiled. “We didn’t rebuild their way. We built ours—small, messy, true.”
Juniper raised a mug. “To Intellect’s Full—where from rubble, homes rise, and truth’s honest yoke binds.”
And so, the land thrived—not perfect, but honest. No towers loomed, but every hand held a spark. The fairytale of the broken towers became a song: when the great fail, the humble mend. And in Sisua, they mended well.
The end.
Housekeeping
It’s been a busy week, and I’ve spent a lot of time out meeting with folks and looking for feedback. The next two weeks will be even more busy, as I have some teaching work to do next weekend. I intend to have my posts written before hand, but I’m unsure how well my my abilities will measure up to my demands.
In a week you will find out.
In a different direction I recently sent a letter to the editor of the Knoxville News Sentinel, and it got published. Check it out!
I got my first low key nasty message from it, which prompted me to lock down my social media. On the upside, it was rather mild as meanish message go, at the same time, you have to wonder what’s going on in someone’s head when they give themselves permission to try and reach out and directly say something hateful to a complete stranger over a difference of opinion.
What that tells me most is that tribalism has reached the point where people are dehumanizing each other. And I know this is way worse elsewhere. These are troubling times.
Since today is Good Friday, and the end of Lent (my favorite Christian period—I find the challenge of giving up something for a spell fortifying.), I’ll pray for the folks who are desending into anger and lashing out. Sadly I fear that will make some folks even more angry, something that I find baffling.
Though I guess I can understand when people feel like they have been harmed in the name of a religion any good associated with it becomes invisible. With some cults that makes sense. Beliefs based on manipulation don’t leave behind a legacy of hope when their bubble finally bursts. At the same time, it seems to me a lot of good has come from Christian traditions, to denigrate it all feels a bit like throwing out the honey after getting stung by the bees. I’m open to other thoughts though. Share them in the comments if you’re confident you can be civil in disagreement.
And have a great weekend y’all. Happy Easter!
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I’ve also been on several podcasts lately. If you haven’t yet, please check them out. The list is below. If there is something in particular you’re curious about, do ask questions in the comments.
Ideological Oasis with Karen King,
The Radical Center with Leslie Boyce,
Ryan Rogers’—author of The Woke Mind—channel,
Outliers in Exile with Gen X Jeff, and have scheduled two recordings on the horizon. Thank you all!
These are prior podcast appearances that flesh out more details from my time in grad school.
Critical Therapy Antidote—An hour-long podcast that goes deep into the gaslighting and projection I experienced.
Genspect—Leslie Elliot Boyce and I share our stories with Sally Satel, Andrew Hartz, and Carrie Mendoza.
With Lauren Holt on the Radical Center—All three of us share our experiences with radicalized counselor training programs.
With Aaron Kindsvatter on the Radical Center—We discuss the toxic environment in counselor training.
I also have my own YouTube channel with videos I made fully detailing counselor training hell. I have considered making more videos to automate some of the process. Let me know if that would be of interest in the comments.
On the Bookshelf
GREAT GREAT GREAT NEWS! I finished a book! You can see which one below. Audiobooks are the bomb, and I really need to find a way to make that work more often.
I will say that I don’t retain the details quite as well, and forget about making notes, but I can listen multiple times while getting other things done. My house may actually get cleaned up. Lordy, I’d cry with joy from that.
Accreditation on the Edge: Challenging Quality Assurance in Higher Education by Susan D. Phillips
Lawless: The Miseducation of America's Elites by Ilya Shapiro Woot! I’ve finished this one, and I’m listening to it a second time. Audiobooks are great.
Moral Calculations: Game Theory, Logic and Human Frailty by Laszlo Mero
The New Know-nothings: The Political Foes of the Scientific Study of Human Nature by Morton Hunt
The New Oxford Annotated Bible with Apocrypha: New Revised Standard by Marc Brettler, Carol Newsom, Pheme Perkins
Surely You’re Joking, Mr. Feynman! Adventures of a Curious Character by Richard Feynman
We Have Never Been Woke: The Cultural Contradictions of the New Elite by Musa al-Gharbi
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About
Diogenes in Exile began after I returned to grad school to pursue a Clinical Mental Health Counseling master’s degree at the University of Tennessee. What I encountered, however, was a program deeply entrenched in Critical Theories ideology. During my time there, I experienced significant resistance, particularly for my Buddhist practice, which was labeled as invalidating to other identities. After careful reflection, I chose to leave the program, believing the curriculum being taught would ultimately harm clients and lead to unethical practices in the field.
Since then, I’ve dedicated myself to investigating, writing, and speaking out about the troubling direction of psychology, higher education, and other institutions that seem to have lost their way. When I’m not working on these issues, you’ll find me in the garden, creating art, walking my dog, or guiding my kids toward adulthood.
You can also find my work at Minding the Campus