Pat Robertson, My Hero

It has been hard for me over the past several weeks, trying to come to terms with serious cognitive dissonance. For those of you unfamiliar with this symptom, it is a condition of "a discomfort caused by holding conflicting cognitions simultaneously". It means my appreciation of one thing, causes a contrary feeling that it must be wrong.
So when Pat Robertson who is basically the embodiment of religious fruitcake-dom comes out in favor of legalizing marijuana, I am at a loss for words and lie awake nights worrying about liking him.
As many of my readers understand, I have issues with religious "leaders" who want to inflict their deranged ideas on us. Yes, we progressive types know they are nut cases, but so many others don't! I think the whole Roman Catholic Church leadership is ready for commitment to some sort of asylum, but amazingly some people still listen to what its leadership has to say. And never mind the hypocrisy.
So for many years, I have been able to dismiss Pat Robertson with his insane comments on Haitian dealings with the devil, tornado victims not praying enough, or knowing who God will pick in the US Presidential election (but not telling us). He is clearly barking mad, bat s**t crazy as some would say.
But then he comes out in support of legalizing marijuana, not because he is a pothead (heaven forbid), but for the essentially progressive reasons of reducing prison populations and not incarcerating people for non-violent crimes. I mean... this has even been discussed in the notoriously liberal Atlantic Magazine!
What am I to think! On the one hand Pat Robertson is so clearly in profound need of some sort of medication, but on the other he spouts something that is so totally coherent and reasonable. It reminds me of a story my father told me many years ago. It probably is apocryphal, but he did work as a doctor at a "mental institution" (he met my mother there), so it is plausibly true.
The story goes like this.
A car has a flat tire outside the mental institution where my father worked. The driver gets out and, cursing all the while in frustration, begins to change the tire. He removes all the lug nuts and puts them into the hub cap behind him in the street while he struggles with the heavy tire. While he is removing the tire, another car comes breezing past and just nicks the edge of his hubcap, sending the lug nuts spinning off into the drainage ditch or wherever, unrecoverable.
The driver stands up and presses his hands to his face in frustration.
Then from behind the barred windows of the asylum, a man in hospital garb calls down to him, "Hey! You at the car!"
The driver looks up. The man behind the bars looks ominous. "What do YOU want?!" He exclaims in exasperation. "Can't you see I am in trouble here?!" He is on the verge of tears.
The man behind the bars says calmly, "Why don't you take one lug nut off each of the other 3 wheels and attach your spare tire with them? That would be good enough to get you to a gas station or service garage."
The driver is incredulous. "Oh... you're right! Oh my, I can do that! What a great idea! Thank you so much!"
The man behind the bars responds, "I may be crazy, but I'm not stupid."
Maybe that is what is happening with Pat Robertson?