Is evolution a sop to the belief that the world makes sense? Why do research findings peter out out after awhile? Discoveries often turn to sand, slip through our fingers, and are non-replicable. It is well known that man is a maker of narrative stories that help him explain to himself what transpires in this world. Reality may be benevolent or malevolent or disinterested or non existent. Belief in Free will and the soul/self are falling into disrepute. Time as we experience it is deemed a misperception. I recall one day in the peception lab in college suddenly envisioning science as the garden path that leads no- where except around the bend into the grave. Maybe that’s why we die so young; the garden path needs to accompany us to our grave. Should it run out prior to the grave, then the individual, robbed of his own carefully nursed narrative before the story’s ending sans comfort or without heaven–or without anything–might be troubled!
Don’t get upset. It’s not that I really believe this; I just don’t know what to believe.
Paleontologists search for reality under the soil, with shovels or trowels or screens with tiny holes. Reality in a frog’s world is limited to only creepy crawly serving portions. Freud’s fairy tales about women were full of hysterics. Everywhere I look examples proliferate.
Naturally our self image is at the mercy of our fairy tales. Don’t worry about me. I’m probably just being postpartum–I mean post-menopausal–I mean post-PTSD,
This photo is to show I’m not mean and quarrelsome all the time.