Weaponised Agnosticism

When I was a lad I had silly little plans as we all tend to have. I suppose my dreams was always grounded in some grim realism or other. Never bought the bit about being an astronaut, although I loved astronomy as a kid. Never thought any good would come from pretending I gave a squirt about the Presidency.

So I knew I would need a job. I knew I wanted a family. I never bothered trying dating until I knew I’d have at least a stable job and could put food on the prospective wife’s platter. (What a lucky girl, no?) Because I knew that women in the workforce was unnatural and I would at least provide for the opportunity of her not having to work. This is part of a man’s role. His essential identity, which by the way is NOT always as emotionally gratifying as you would at first be led to believe. Anyway. Those dreams developed over time. In the ‘beginning’ I just wanted to feel like my efforts meant something. Huh.

Having recently watched my grandparents shrivel up and die a pair of mutually ignominious and, frankly, insulting deaths… I set my mind upon medicine as a means of securing moral imperium, copium, hopium and other such compound drugs. I had been appalled at the medical system’s (wealthcare, goddamnit) lack of compassion and humanity. My grandmother, who while never having been the brightest bulb in the box, never lost her faculties. Rather she had aphasia after some strokes and other maladies my mother was ill-equipped to handle. But the CNAs proceeded to gossip over her horribly. Treat her poorly. We never forgot this. My grandfather, if not a genius, was an intimidatingly clever man. He had business acumen, good sense, was shrewd and cunning, he had excellent time preference and a sense of place. I wished I’d have had more time as a man to know him. He, however, got the dementia. His ungrateful wife threw in in a home where he was harassed by feral fucking groids. We will never forget that, either.

So, I went into medicine. I put a number of certifications in my scrubs. They were all dead+ends. Obviously, because here I write you as a carpenter with his useless certifications and theology degree. Just remember: every nail I hammer is holy, and every joke I tell heals the soul. At least that’s what I tell myself everytime my student debt bill roles along.

I told you that story in Grandpa Saxon style to tell you another one. During my Nursing classes we took a sub-unit on historical beliefs and attitudes regarding illness. At the time I failed to see the pragmatic value of the sub-unit, but I loved history so never complained. I realise now precisely why these little units were important, but that comes later.

Anyway. During the course of the lesson we were hit with the Roman belief that the disease diabetes works by disintegrating the organs and converting them into excess urine. The object of the lesson was to instil us with a sense of hilarity. Oh, how we all laughed. Silly Romans and your ideas!

The point is clear: modernity rules. Period, end of thought. Now the thought did end for most. But I’ve never been able to leave well enough alone. I eventually put myself through a thought exercise, which in part allowed me to end up where I am now. I began asking myself: ‘well, would I have had any better ideas?’ Of course, my childhood programming screamed and raged how obvious the answers were BECUZ SCIENCE!!! (((!))) But really. No. I eventually concluded that, bereft of modern artificers I could no more prove or disprove with stunning alacrity than, say, gravity, the existence of Gods, the nature of piss. Nothing. Every. Single. Thing. About the modern world is a leap of frigging faith.

And it’s a very blind faith.

As all faith perhaps must be.

But here we are though. In the age of the coof. The sheer arrogance of the bugman in his coomhovel has never been more repellent. The utter dichotomy of what strikes me as observable reality, experienced reality and attempted reality are stunningly brave. I won’t insult you by making the illustration. But there you go.

Of course, t’ain’t just the coof, neither. Much as I hate getting dragged into these things – and I’m doing it to myself, nobody’s making me – you can see it in the Flat Earth / Phat Earth debate teams. Devil’s avocado: but what is the means most people engage in belief in Thikkk Eartha? Ad hominem. Well obviously Mother Earth is phat because the Pope iz stoopid. That’s not a belief, it’s a negation. It’s a self-congratulating internal mechanism that allows you to think you’re better than them. When I’m honest with myself, if I critically examine my premises, all I’ve done is prove precisely how retarded I really am because the issue is entirely too foreign for my synapses and I’m related to comparing pie-charts of women depicting the Earth, and my comfort level is to select for curves. It’s just intellectual muh dikkin for most folk. But ultimately; my question becomes, other than ridicule, what is to be gained from engaging in these debates?

If an atheist convinces me all possible Gods are fake and gay; what is his prize? I know what the theist loses, but the atheist gains little of value. If you take Thikkk Eartha away from me, then I’m just sad, but you haven’t won anything. If you convinced Rome that diabetes isn’t a urinary tract disintegration… They’d probably thank you and keep evolving real science.

What remains is that there is the LCD (low common denominator) underlying all of these. With social deconstructionist types the modus operandi is emotional gratification. I used to think of it as a religious impulse, and I might still be right. But facts and logic ain’t it, Ben Shapiro you have no power here. Or there. Religion, Scientism, most isms generally, are group identity emotional masturbation master classes. Synchronised onanism. Vril to power. Whatevah.

Course, for all my general ambivalence, I’ve found it helpful to turn the Eye of Saxon against things that I think are actually threats. Nobody preaches nihilism out of the goodness of their heart. Just self validation. Same reason Jehovah Joe Can I Get A Witness needs you to believe exactly the way he does so he can live forever in paradise on earth forever with JEEEEHOVAH forever on earth… Forever. Point is; the claim of nothing has meaning is exquisitely equal proportionately to God is Love in their both being mere opinions that are hard to quantify.

It should be obvious why it’s all a problem. Limits thinking. That limits individual capacity to transcend. Of course, it’s also emotionally gratifying for me to think that we can expand our thinking, grow and achieve higher sentience than we have. When nothing is necessarily obviously true, nothing is necessarily obviously false, either. Sky’s the limit? Maybe not. Maybe no limits at all. What is a limit are systems of control designed to crush your being into flaccid subservience and sterile allegiance to a decidedly unsatisfying matrix of inverted, involuted anti-thought and reactionary grabbling.

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Note to self- post link to Kenneth Copeland meme video. Check!

HOW DO I KNOW THAT I KNOW WHAT I KNOW THAT I KNOW IT?

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