Book Seven

Perhaps I was too harsh.

I'm not a politician, so it's alright to sometimes wonder if I perhaps lay too hard with the lash. I sometimes wonder though which would be a worse. A world moved to paralysis out of ignorance, or a world moved to paralysis out of apathy.

I sometimes wonder about blind faith, and how it functions in today's age. I can only imagine a certain willingness to go along with what one is told, but I can't seem to understand how that willingness is born.

Hope and sanity. Again, they seem mutually exclusive at this point. When one broaches the extreme edges of sanity and sees out across the endless plains of misery and indifference, hope - and by extension - faith, tend to spring up. Some would say they're the bridge across this blackened and lifeless field. Some would say they're a product of it. In my mind, the distinction is meaningless. Another imaginary line drawn in imaginary sand on an imaginary beach. It's almost shameful that people have died for things like this.

That in the end, the measure of all of this is only in our heads. A measure of just how far into insanity we have to go to find that one crucial thing that our emotional being craves. Whether by God or machine or the Flying Spaghetti Monster. By hand or by crook or by theft if need be. Regardless of faith, or lack of faith. Regardless of demographics or denomination.

Breaking down the walls of humanity reveals that humanity itself is a subjective term. Everything that defines us, defines our culture, is essentially a product of our own minds. Religion or not. Faith or not. The distinction is meaningless, as the pursuit is the same regardless.

But the lines are still drawn, and people are still convinced to abide by them. Willingness to submit to blind faith. Or blind lack of faith.