A Proof of Perfection a Proof of God.

If there is no such thing as Perfection there can be no such thing as imperfection, as there would be nothing to judge and therefore define the imperfection by.

For example, if there is no such thing as light there is no such thing as darkness, as the one is defined by the other.

However, if there is no such thing as imperfection then, by definition, anything considered is Perfect, because there is no such thing as imperfection.

By the understanding of Completion however both can be understood. A thing is imperfect if it is incomplete. Anything under the sun is incomplete but the universe is not incomplete, if it is defined as everything.

The universe is Complete and therefore Perfect, and Perfection as a concept is identical with God.

Of Angels.

THE one most important reflection I have to ponder and remind myself of whenever I think about existence or the universe is that of Progression. Common it is and useful to reckon or rationalise things from complex to simple; this is for example one of the great arguments of Richard Dawkins against the existence of God, that God is not an explanation but demands an explanation for being too complex. Conversely G.K. Chesterton observed that an acorn demands a tree. Without descending freefall into Asiatic philosophies of reciprocal circles, Yin Yang, reincarnation, and so on, I nevertheless think there is logical power in both directions: the complex can be understood by the simple and the simple can be understood by the complex. That is the nature of human comprehension, but of the two I would contend the most deceptive method is rationalising the complex by the simple.

   The best example I can give and have given many times is that of a human being as understood by atomic theory. If atomic theory is to stand alone we have to admit for a certainty that there is essentially no difference between a human being and a lump of coal. Scientifically this is perfectly sound doctrine, each is a collation of atoms, but actually it is so strange as to invite ridicule. I think Richard Dawkins would in his bold way say it is not ridiculous, but I think silently his hearers, too cowed by the gravity of his presence and intellect, would say only quietly to themselves, 'It is ridiculous'. The opposite way of course is the unacceptable way to Dawkins, that an atom is to be understood by means of God, that is, a very simple thing is to be understood by means of an infinitely complex thing. 'How?' might he ask, 'Well,' might I reply, 'consider the number 100. Divide it by itself and you understand the number 1.' 'No,' might he contend, 'take the number 1 and multiply it 100 times and you understand the number 100.' 'But Dawkins, my dear fellow, you have presumed the multiple without first having it.'

   That is why I say ultimately it is the complex which explains the simple. I know I have maintained, and still maintain, that the number 1 can be considered equivalent with ∞, but I use the operators in their typical sense for the purposes of illustration (which, incidentally, is all I think explaining the complex by the simple is at heart). Therefore there is this progression, logically because actually. I have been considering the nature of sound for example, that it is after all vibration perceived by the ear, therefore only vibration, and yet if only vibration why is it not merely the flicker of a sensitive flame near a rumble? The ear makes it something more, or perhaps, as that most clapped out of philosophical questions suggests, the ear reveals more greatly what it is, this vibration. But what after all is vibration? Some very deep theories of physics even suggest that it is the heart even of atoms and particles. It is oscillation I learn and oscillation is after all really but motion of a kind, and yet this begs the question Descartes asked as to the nature of existence itself, or extension as he named it. If everything is really vibration what is it which vibrates? What medium permits the vibration? What dimension permits the medium? What thought realises the dimension, if thought is necessary to realisation?

   Now I have been at the extremity of duress recently and a beautiful thought of Christianity came to my mind at the time, the thought of an angel. I prefer the cultural perception of angels as female to the tradition of their being male and kinds of upper ministers in the echelons of heaven, angels and archangels like bishops and archbishops. At any rate I thought of an angel as a being beyond the ordinary plane of life, beyond the organic and blood based kind of existence, even a representation of one who has died. A pure and pleasant person, a beautiful thing and a delightful thought, but what reality can my logic imbue into such an imagined object? I cannot say quite but I consider the fact that upborne from base strings, if strings they are, or modulating oscillations somehow conglobing into lumps of force or matter which, in a great deal of time start threading out thoughts like a spider threading out webs of silk, there might well be attributable a reality to anything at all conceivable. In a certain sense, there was a visitation in my mind, even if others should call it a hallucination as physicists call a human being but a piece of matter. There was I feel an actual angel representative in my mind for a time and she came bearing forgiveness in her left hand and kindness in her right, and the thought of her was balm to me more than the quantity of medical drugs that ever could be administered, more than all the wanton therapy they provided in that asylum, making a sandwich, planting a flower, or discussing a diagnosis.

   It is easy but also very serviceable to say there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in all philosophy. Of course it is absolutely true but that does not stop a Dawkins or a Gervais talking about putting away childhood toys, facing reality; tell me, is cowardice more a reality than courage? Is ugliness more substantial than beauty? Is peace less actual than distress? This angel was beautiful and gave me courage and peace, that to me in sheer duress was absolute reality, better as Russell might say than the bleak dystopian visions which a mistaken evolutionary biologist doles out so cogently and well (mistaken because Darwin actually believed in God—at least if I am to trust his word as written on the very last page of On the Origin of Species). The angel was there with me more thoroughly than most people in my life, and if reality should be tested by completeness of thought, she was real.

Of Nigel Farage.

THE great English Huguenot is without question the mightiest figure of this age in British and European politics, by far the finest orator, and the most influential Anglian politician of this century. His place in history is set already by the blow he dealt to an attempted federation of Europe, an awful mixture of beautiful cultures into a swamp of no culture at all. He has realised however that his efforts were not enough to save the kingdom, they were enough to provide the possibility only. The body of this kingdom is too diseased internally to recover as it is, with the people presently in Westminster. Therefore at sixty he must begin the process of establishing power as Churchill did throughout the Wilderness Years, when like Confucius he was scorned and mocked and derided for forewarning the inevitable. And when the inevitable came of course he was given head office as Arthur Excalibur, and the scorners fled like rats from a (not at all) doomed ship.

   At sixty-five Churchill took upon himself the task of facing and conquering Hitler, through six years of immense strain  and illness. Like Churchill, Mr. Farage has in his life suffered a motorcar accident, an aeroplane accident, and contended with disease; like Churchill, he has doggedly persevered through a hail of ill-mannered counterfire, equivalent to the spit balls of classroom bullies, from complacent thinkers who cannot bear the pride and glory of patriotism. They think a nation is a plotted scheme, a book of propositions, a black beard and a red flag of aggression. I believe Mr. Farage's word however, that these enemies of the kingdom might once again find themselves enduring the emotion of surprise. 

   Why the devil did pint measurements not return to the Crown marking and why the deuce is it now 'UKCA'? Can this be fixed? Also, I think that right thinking patriots should exert their thoughts against the tendency, I observe, of socialist thinking people to favour the use of illegal narcotics for recreational purposes. There can be no greater donation to crime than that, I firmly believe, for they short-circuit their consciences with these substances. As one much subjected to 'medicated' drugs of late I have never been more sceptical of their power to help, and more certain of their power to harm, except in cases of grievous disease. Whereas alcohol can be a culture, especially in weak drinks, and not very harmful, for it developed from the time of monkeys pawing up fermented apples from the jungle floor and we have adjusted to it, these potent and illicit drugs are window-crashingly injurious to the mind. Yet we see among the rabble rousers of Glastonbury so often the flag of the marijuana leaf, as though it were a St. George's Cross of faith to assemble behind, fie on it, the folly, the fell misjudgement.