For those who have an followed my work in relation to understanding suspicion, it will come as no surprise that I spend a lot of time in an area of thinking that is far from the practical and pragmatic.
Some might think that it’s the area of the greatest and whitest light and others that it’s a black hole.
It is no coincidence that these two are such distinct opposites, and yet cannot be considered polarisation or diametrically-opposed for the space is not spherical and it is not circular.
We often say that if we want to solve some great problem facing society, of which financial crime is one, that we must ″think the unthinkable″ but we don’t do that. We all reach a point where self-censorship prevents us saying or doing things that might cause upset to others. This is a strength of society, it is also a weakness of society.
We don’t think the unthinkable, we don’t say the unsayable, because someone else’s voice, usually a voice from someone with a one-dimensional view of how that person wants society to be, drowns out the harsh questions that need to be asked.
Those thoughts are thought and suppressed. They reside in a hell specially constructed by some for the control of the many. The place where questioning self-appointed authorities and their crude, often arbitrary, rules and regulations are imposed, thuggish form of control seen in so many autocratic and despotic regimes from small businesses to super-massive countries.
That’s not the place of unthought thoughts.
The place of unthought thoughts is not where thoughts go to die, or to fester until they break out in revolution. The place of unthought thoughts is where people don’t go.
The place of unthought thoughts is where people look over the precipice of their own imagination and decide not to take the step into the unknown.
The place of unthought thoughts is, for many, a terrifying place. They are the couch potatoes of intellectualism.
For others, it is a place of adventure. They are the bungee jumpers and downhill skiers of thinking. A small percentage are motorcycle racers because they are not adventurers, they are madmen.
And for yet others, it’s a place to seek thrills in safety. They are the passengers strapped into big dippers whose conscious thought says ″I’m going to die″ but whose subconscious says ″I’m going to be home in time for tea.″