I always feel the urge to fall back into that comfortable embrace of the old ignorance and superstition left over from the Dark Ages when people actually believed silly shit like, "Math is the language of Satan."
The old hag brewed up some willow bark tea and suddenly, my headache is gone - what sorcery is this!?!
The rube is always with us. They used to tell each other bullshit fairy stories and then run around looking for witches to burn. Now they watch DumFux News and run around electing idiots like Donald Trump and Marjorie Taylor Greene.
Anyway, even though it's pretty gosh darn cool in a very hip and nerdly way, there's no magic. There's no mystery of the ages. There's no god hiding in the shadows of lost knowledge, and no evil creature with supernatural powers plotting against us.
In the end, it really is just an odd coincidence that evolution makes us interpret as a mystical thing, imbuing it with agency and intent.
Maybe that's the key. We want it to be precise; we seem to need it to be perfect, but it isn't - because it can't be. Because there's no evolution without imperfection.
Like Frank said -
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| Without deviance from normality, there can be no progress |
The more things change.
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