(November 2, 2013 at 8:45 am)enrico Wrote:(November 2, 2013 at 8:21 am)whateverist Wrote: Newsflash: we already know that atheism has no foundations. Atheism is but the lack of something which is no thing in itself. It is what you believe which requires foundations of dogma. It is you who are full of hot air.
You are contradicting yourself.
You say or you back those who say that life is finite (stating a so called truth) and then you say that atheism is ..............but lack of something which is no thing in itself.
I just wonder if you know what the hell are you talking about.
If you say that Atheism has no foundations then what is a truth of yours if not a foundation?
(November 2, 2013 at 8:39 am)whateverist Wrote: And I suppose you know that because, unlike neuroscientists, you are actually conscious of where your consciousness comes from? You really are clueless of how pompous and ridiculous you sound, aren't you?
There is a science that bring to the surface the hidden conscious and that science is called INTUITIONAL SCIENCE.
Do the neuroscientists practice that science?
That is the problem.
The day that these guys will then they will understand how the system works.
In the meantime the dwarf clown do practice that science so he may know something about it.
He does not know everything of course but more everyday which is more then what a neuroscientis does.
Enrico did you know that all sheep are black. I proved because I can see, just you don't see properly because you don't know.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
