“It’s certainty that makes one mad, not doubt.”―Friedrich Nietzsche, Ecce Homo
A hae ma doots! * So well I might,
for doubting's great necessity,
the very thing to make the welkin ring—
though Pandora’s predicted gift not found,
Epimetheus (saving Afterthought) serves bootlegged Certainty for us to swig instead.
Deceivèd in the dusts of lenses ground,
through which Leeuwenhoek first saw the animalcules that Big Pharma's profit schools,
“By reality and perfection, I mean the same thing,” Spinoza wrote, bemused.
Best of all possible worlds, our favored Earth,
which sang when brought to birth,
doubting the merit of these specious lines,
I doubt myself, I doubt these times,
for in their separate ways, all things are meant to doubt—the fool alike to the green bay tree,† rocks, mountains, planets, stars, galaxy,
apes, viruses, subatomic particles, and that.
Consider now, when still confused,
Schrödinger’s fabled undead cat.
Epigraph: Nietzsche, Ecce Homo: “Nicht der Zweifel, die Gewißheit ist das, was wahnsinnig macht.”
* “I have my doubts,” Scottish expression of skepticism.
† "I have seen the wicked in great power, and spreading himself like a green bay tree."—Psalm 37:35 (King James Version).
Wednesday, March 26, 2025
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