The tragedy of the present: An elegy to reason

On this day a prophetic, lone figure could have emerged from the herd. Promising to revolutionise the herd with his wisdom, he showed us taught us modus ponens again. This hero taught us how to think, how to reason, how to see. It is a testiment to his genius that people even rebut him, but what his opponents have done is not deny his project, but accept it and embellish the ideal.

This lone figure emerges from a fog of unreason, from the mud of dogmatism into erudite propositions and softly uttered reason. A structure had emerged when there had once been only fog, the herd could see the mountain, even if they were not strong enough to climb it like he could. On this glorious day, lady reason gives us acuity. Some talk of it becoming modern times, he doth call it the age of reason, the times of enlightenment but not enlightened times.

This prophet showed us that this mountain has a peak, but is fundamentally and conceptually impossible to reach its zenith. Like the wonderous island talked of by a Konigsberger long ago, we wish to be explorers but our desire for discovery will never be fulfilled. Some may think that this is disheartening to be distanced so far from the noumenal but we are wiser when we realise our own ignorance; we are so much of better people to realise that we fail to reach that zenith, not because of personal failings, as those ad hominem dogmatist scum tell you, but because of the conceptual divide, because of the infinite qualificational leap required to reach that zenith.

Our prophet is not so much a seer but a ranger; warning us of the impassibility of the mountain ahead. For unlike any mountain, its base is its thinnest point and its zenith is infinitely large, it is almost a vertical climb to that zenith, yet we use picks, two picks, one more powerful than the other; named reason and experience. Eventually the latter fails us as we attempt to climb this wonderous mountain but even the former has its failings. Yet we still rejoice when the lone figure tells us of our disposition.

That day, however, may never come. For the lone figure hath died a horrible death, the kind worse than normal demise, the kind of death where the body still persists. The weakness and utter incapacity of this potential great loner has reduced him into one of the inferior herd, and he curses that herd.

The herd is led by dogmatism and not mediated through the tradition of reason, they use common sense and the bastardised excrement of a priori remnants to work out the world. They never entertain the contrary, they are ignorant fiends who listen to evil music. Their art is stained by the bruises they bear; bruises inflicted upon themselves. Abusing their own reason, abusing themselves by their blindness. They can see through their eyes yet they choose to walk with lids closed, they prefer the all-embracing black to the nuances of colour; for with colour and shape, they see a world they cannot totally understand.

What I and the lone prophet despise is that their blindness is CELEBRATED. HOW DARE THEY! RAPISTS OF REASON ARE THEY! They are not blind by affliction but by choice, some of them even KNOW how to see, but ultimately, they understand their world by the black fog rather than one of light and sharpness.

When the herd walks blind, they step over the gentle loner, damaged is he, that he cannot complete his project. Damaged is he, that he lives on to see the blind herd happily walk into a pit, but does not aid them, either because he cannot or will not.

I weep for the herd, as they move further from mount impossible, they become worthy of contempt; I’d rather kill them then watch them kill themselves, and when I murder them all, I shall utter as the last sheep falls ‘Quod Erat Demonstrandum’ – for the modus ponens of the prophet, is the modus tollens of the executioner. I.

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