(as is often said)
what it seems.
And fair enough too … except:
sometimes life is too complex to allow the philosopher or scientist to intrude. Like, like, like personally just live for yourself (and try to ‘let live’).
So in everyday life: who the hell cares if we are all mostly just empty space? Certainly I don’t—if I have an itch I scratch it, if I thirst I guzzle a cuppa. Electrons in orbit, let ’em go spin themselves …
SO WHO CARES HOW MANY
blasted angels can dance on the head of a pin*, or if Christ was a cowboy, or if Mohammed could be done for child molestation were he but alive today? And rightly so— or can exceptions be made for some selected fifty-year-olds who cheerfully bang nine-year-old little girls and brag about it?
Don’t ask me.
Ask the religious; for many millions of souls Uncle Mo is the Grand Ultimate Paradigm. I’m just one old dawg quietly thinking that where you have a contradiction at least one of its premises is wrong.
“Yes, Mr God, Sir?”
“They won’t like it, you know.”
“They don’t have to, Sir—I’m merely scratching an itch here.”
* I believe the answer some ecumenical pondering produced (after a great deal of intercourse) was: ten thousand. (I have no idea the margin of error.)