The idols of our self-assurance are made of the bones of dead ideas and tightened by the skin of irrationality. Kneeling before it, we mumble mantras in “a defense of custom” as Tom Paine highlighted. Sharp, new, edged weapons of reason must not touch the flammable wooden god before whom we bow. His shadow falls over us and we defend him, even while the light swings and his shadow flies away. The acquisition of knowledge and the usage of cool reason is almost unheard of to many – instead of embracing the open landscape, leading into unknown avenues in their own imagination, most would cling to the idol, who is tethered by fraying ropes to their own fading dreams.