“Is the resolve to be so scientific about everything perhaps a kind of fear of, an escape from, pessimism? A subtle last resort against—truth?”

I've often thought that the statistical treatment of cosmology to give rise to the multiverse theory seems to be used to excape having to think too deeply about the possibility that this is the only universe. I've never understood the attraction of the multiverse idea ("bloodless" is a perfect description). It seems to beg the question it pretends to answer, but it is used to sell popular science magazines as if it is some kind of pinnacle of the scientific endeavour. It is relatively easy to theorise and wax impressively lyrical about statistics if we can invoke large sample populations (especially imaginary ones!), but it is very hard to understand and rationalise singular events.

Wordsworth nails it:

Shall men for whom our age

Unbaffled powers of vision hath prepared,

To explore the world without and world within,

Be joyless as the blind? Ambitious spirits—

Whom earth, at this late season, hath produced

To regulate the moving spheres, and weigh

The planets in the hollow of their hand;

And they who rather dive than soar, whose pains

Have solved the elements, or analysed

The thinking principle—shall they in fact

Prove a degraded Race? and what avails

Renown, if their presumption make them such?

Oh! there is laughter at their work in heaven!

Inquire of ancient Wisdom; go, demand

Of mighty Nature, if 'twas ever meant

That we should pry far off yet be unraised;

That we should pore, and dwindle as we pore,

Viewing all objects unremittingly

In disconnexion dead and spiritless;

And still dividing, and dividing still,

Break down all grandeur, still unsatisfied

With the perverse attempt, while littleness

May yet become more little; waging thus

An impious warfare with the very life

Of our own souls!

"And if indeed there be

An all-pervading Spirit, upon whom

Our dark foundations rest, could he design

That this magnificent effect of power,

The earth we tread, the sky that we behold

By day, and all the pomp which night reveals;

That these—and that superior mystery

Our vital frame, so fearfully devised,

And the dread soul within it—should exist

Only to be examined, pondered, searched,

Probed, vexed, and criticised?[FR]—Accuse me not

Of arrogance, unknown Wanderer as I am,

If, having walked with Nature threescore years,

And offered, far as frailty would allow,

My heart a daily sacrifice to Truth,

I now affirm of Nature and of Truth,

Whom I have served, that their DIVINITY

Revolts, offended at the ways of men

Swayed by such motives, to such ends[386] employed;

Philosophers, who, though the human soul

Be[387] of a thousand faculties composed,

And twice ten thousand interests, do yet prize

This soul, and the transcendent universe,

No more than as a mirror that reflects

To proud Self-love her own intelligence;

That one, poor, finite object, in the abyss

Of infinite Being, twinkling restlessly!

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They are husks (cicada shells if you will) of men pretending to be Lords.

Don’t eat bugs. Don’t live in shoeboxes.

Don’t do anything these guys say.

These “men” and their minions can go play hide and go f*%# themselves.

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Setting all other points aside: I don’t know if eating bugs is inherently degrading. I’d be remiss to call John the Baptist “degraded”.

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