Sanity is just the average of all the different kinds of crazy.

I went out last night with a group of people from work. It was a late summer night, the weather was near-perfect, the bars were crowded and everyone was in a good mood.

But the one prevailing sentiment was this: “we should make the most of it now, before the next lockdown happens and we’re all stuck back in our houses for an indeterminant amount of time, until ‘they’ decide to release us”.

It impaired my enjoyment of the event by more than a little, to witness how this received wisdom has become an average thought, and therefore is a sane point of view.

Because by the standards of my own internal logic, it sound crazy to me that intelligent, educated people would so easily accept that, in a country where 80% of the population has been vaccinated, we are likely to endure further lockdowns over a virus which, even in the absence of any vaccine or therapeutics, has an infection fatality rate known to be below 0.4%, and for which proven treatments are available which can drive that IFR to much lower levels.

I didn’t bother to question the premise very much yesterday evening – it was not the time, and I was not so inclined. But if I had, I know that I would have been dismissed as ‘crazy’ – in today’s language, a ‘CovIdiot’, for questioning the efficacy of lockdowns, for which the evidence is at best scant. For questioning the value of wearing facemasks, for which the evidence is at best scant. For questioning the efficacy of vaccines in a country in which 25% of new PCR positive tests are among the fully vaccinated. For vehemently opposing vaccine passports on the grounds that there is no logical reason for them, much less a clear cost-benefit case.

I am crazy for thinking these things. I am crazy because it is a ‘belief’ to hold that reason defines what is and what is not true. Most of human history contradicts this assertion, so only a crazy person would persist in believing it.

But they are crazy too. They are crazy for believing in the dangerosity of a disease that mainly affects the old and comorbid, and for which valid therapeutics exists. They are crazy for sacrificing all of their basic freedoms to enrich Big Pharma and Big Tech, in the vain hope of avoiding an illness they will in any event almost certainly get, but will do them little actual harm.

The only difference between our brands of crazy is that theirs is much more common.

If I fail to see further, it’s because my view is blocked by the heels of giants, onto whose impossibly high shoulders I cannot hope to climb.

There was a time when it was possible, through intellectual curiosity and persistent application, for a thinking individual to climb from the ground of primitive understanding, up to the pinnacle of human knowledge – in almost any discipline. Someone like Gauss, for example, was a curious child who received little more than a rudimentary education in mathematics, yet managed to make an indelible mark on the discipline. The same is true of Darwin, Keynes, Freud, Turing – the list is almost endless.

Such would simply not be possible today. In order to make an advancement, one must start from a relatively lofty position, taking for granted knowledge without having explored it from its fundaments.

Those unable to obtain that lofty position are effectively locked out of pursuit of this higher knowledge. I have no idea how to design a circuit board or build a semiconductor, and it would be impossible for me to figure such a thing out. Unless I am given and take for granted the assumed wisdom of those who have come before, I cannot make any notable contribution in that field.

I could start, of course, from scratch. But the futility of the pursuit would soon become clear to me. My lifelong endeavour would have less computing power than a toddler’s wind-up toy.

This basic truth drives a deep disconnect between the technology and knowledge we use, and our sense of ownership over it. It is one of the factors, I believe, which explains how we have become so enthralled to the technology which controls us.

We cannot climb onto the shoulders of giants, so we kneel down and worship their heels instead.

There are two kinds of people: those who shoehorn a complex and diverse populous into a simple dichotomy. And those who don’t.

When ancient man gazed up into the stars, he saw before him a wondrous display. But his curious mind could not quite accept that this pattern could be nothing more than randomness. He sought order, and therefore picked out constellations – Orion’s belt, the big dipper, the little dipper…all having only the most tenuous links to the images he felt they must … must … represent.

This, it seems, is innate to us. When confronted with something that is at once overwhelming and apparently lacking in order, our brains attempt, by whatever means, to make order out of it. Let’s call it ‘spurious pattern recognition’.

In our time, the temptation is great to want to find such a pattern in what has befallen our civilisation in recent months. Is there, after all, a smoky backroom table, around which Gates, Soros, Page and Zuckerberg are plotting the Great Reset, in meticulous detail? (We imagine Dorsey is there too, but a little doped out and only vaguely aware of the overall evil plot).

It certainly would explain a lot – from the ridiculous overreactions that were lockdown, to the silly face diapers we must still all wear, to the steamrolling of an experimental vaccine, in the teeth of an antiviral treatment that is safer and just as effective (Ivermectin).

But we cannot dismiss the possibility that there is, after all, no great agenda. Vaccines will not achieve mass population control. Governments are short-termist and basically not that competent, while Big Tech is really nothing more than a gangly teenager with a sledge hammer, some fireworks and a bottle of whiskey stolen from dad’s liquor cabinet.

Maybe we can put away our tin foil hats this time. Maybe everything’s just a mess.

Alliteration is Amazing. Assonance is Fantastic. But Rhyme is Sublime

Twilight Peace

You can’t define a peaceful frame of mind
In terms of states observable.

But if you could, you might try this:
A grassy slope, yourself reclined
A summer crop of people ripened right behind.

On one cheek the heat of evening sunshine
Still burns hard
On the other whips a chill nocturnal breeze –
Night’s vanguard.

You are the evening.
Your face is twilight.
Your nose the border between the Republic of Day
And the Kingdom of Nightfall.

The very air inhaled must show its passport
To move from glaring colour’s bloom
Into the comfort promised to the night’s caccoon.

If God had wanted us to be atheists, He would have made us with a much better capacity for rational thought.

I have always wondered at the impossibilty of atheism. To deny God, is to deny dogma itself. It is to be fool enough to consider that rational thought is sufficient to make sense of the universe.

A moment’s reflection suffices to reveal that this assertion is patently absurd. Without a dogmatic framework upon which to operate, no observations can have any meaning – even to trust in the reality of one’s own eyes or ears depends on an axiom. Likewise, in a world of infinite observations, no scientific method can prevent the formulation of a biased hypothesis. Infinite hypotheses would, in such a Godless world, result in an infinite scatterplot of results, but would bring us no closer to understanding truth.

Of course, even the most ardent self-proclaimed atheists are nothing of the sort. They do cling to dogma, and therefore have a conception of God. What it lacks is a codification – and therein lies the ultimate danger.

For despite the preaching of that famous evangelist Marx, religion is not the opiate of the masses. Rather, it is the conductor, who attempts to turn cacophany into harmony.

In 2020, we have seen what happens when the conductor is bludgeoned and left a cripple. Like Nietzsche’s madman who lit the lantern in broad daylight, we err through the streets, chanting Black Lives Matter, habited in our face masks, fearing COVID and self-flagellating our soft, white backs. Searching for God without even realising that is our purpose.

It is not without great symbolic significance that the churches, almost to a one, closed their doors, denying spiritual comfort, out of fear for their earthly flesh. Christ must surely weep for us, for His religion is dead to us.

And after finally gaining admittance, the madman asks: “What after all are these churches now, if they are not the tombs and sepulchers of God?”