Those who invested their life, even their faith, strictly in the material and empirical gave themselves various names: naturalist; secularist; humanist; atheist. Yet they were consistently and generally titled “satanist” by opponents of theirs who dutifully and dolefully worshiped the most famously fictionalized Jew; and called simply “stubborn” by the others.
They reinvented many wheels of society and morality—the most vain of them clinging to their cobbled reinventions as “intellectual property,” or “self-evident,” even “objective Truth.”
And whenever they lost count of the anti-angel scientists dancing fervently, mathematically, precariously to the click of some synthetic, rhythm-warping social metronome, on the head of a future history’s pin — they would escape from the mire of certainty, to sit among the mystics and the metaphysicians — namely, the children — to learn again how smoothly a heart beats, how slowly a body breathes, and how humbly an eye must sleep, that a mind may awaken;
then, relapsed into certainty, bottle up, with hands and mouth, their addictive descriptions of this wisdom, which they naively named “knowledge” — intent and content to market sophisticated seeming-over-being, both to those stubborn by cowardice as well as to those stubborn by pride.