Modern day science is still just a vast primordial swamp, waiting for that elusive spark of life to give rise to some higher understanding. Beyond that veil of hubris, out past the rugged frontier of speculation, what keeps you up at night is how little you really know about yourself. Ask a hundred different people and get a hundred different answers. A hundred different cures to a hundred different diseases you never knew you had.
The behaviorist will say you learned to act this way. You were rewarded, reinforced. The sociologist will examine your past and blame the social and economic institutions you were helpless to resist. The psychotherapist will inquire about your fear of failure, your struggle to control, and—of course—your parents.
Speak of the devil, your parents just tell you that you’re not right with God. That you need to find Jesus. If you’d please just take another look.
But the psychiatrist will climb up your family tree, tracing the tell-tale trail of chemical imbalance. The biologist will no doubt agree that you were genetically predisposed after singling out the offending gene. Luckily, the pharmacist can provide you with a variety of expensive pills that may just do the trick.
The fortune you stuck to the bulletin board reminds you: “The only normal people are the ones you don’t know very well.”
What I’m asking is this: where the hell do you factor into any of this?
The philosopher will tell you to check your premises.
You’re sneaky bonus post made me miss this one until now. Good editing. I’m happy to be defied.
Jon Losey would play FP.