Some rare people find new meanings for old things. Others give old explanations to new things. This is sad but so normal; for the man with the hammer, everything looks like a nail. This reminds me of a story:
It was a dark autumn night. The Mullah, down on his elbows and knees, was searching assiduously in the dust, under the street light.
A belated neighbour asked him:
"What are you doing Hoca?"
"I am looking for my key."
The helpful neighbour got down on his knees to give a hand. They searched at length, without result.
Tired, the man finally asked:
"Tell me Hoca, are you certain that you lost your keys here?"
"Of course not," replied Nasrudin, "I lost them in my cellar."
"Then why on earth do you look for them in the street?"
"For there is more light here."