Blasphemer of the month I. : Denis Diderot

Dearest Readers,


Here is my new monthly series after the highly successful "Quote of the Day, Saint of the week" series."Blasphemer of the month" will cover the best known enemies of the Church, ones, whose daily bread was earned by their incoherent diatribes about Catholicism. You, uneducated American protestant readers, probably think that the worst thing that has happened to Christianity was Richard Dawkins. While that awful man is probably a self-proclaimed university Don Juan who has "hot sex" with "liberated young women" in his office, and I want to kick him in his genitalia, I think that worst things have befallen on the Church than his ridiculous attacks. (I will still write a blog entry on him, though)


Denis Diderot (1713-1784)

I hate Denis Diderot fro several reasons: 1) He was a Frenchman. 2) He was a "philosopher" of the enlightment 3) He had a lot of sex, 4) He had no moral standards, 5) He thought women liked sex (ew!).

Now, as to Diderot the "philosopher", he is not of much consequence. He was not a big atheist, like Holbach or Helvetius, he was more of an enemy of  an institutionalized Church, who tried to answer questions of upmost importance by babbling about nature and whatnot.

Now, this is a note to all you amateur philosophers: „Nature” is not an expression that you can just use at your leisure referring to those vague ideas you have about some naked woman sitting in a garden surrounded by fat kids. „Nature” and „natural” should be defined before one uses them and should be handled with care. Diderot (who probably hasn’t read anything but some Locke and his enlightment-cronies' scribblings) knew nothing about Nature. What is even worse, his ethics and casuistry attempted to substitute divine secrets with rational speculation. Oh, human presumptuousness! I don’t mind some rational speculations myself, but as we know philosophy should never aspire to be anything more than the maidservant of theology

Diderot's ridiculous work accumulated in writing erotic novels about lesbian nuns and talking vaginae. I think this is all that has to be said. Obviously, we know that none of those two things exist, but in the fantasy of this sad, old, senile pervert, who was thinking about the talking vaginae of nublie fifteen year-olds, while wearing a velvet gown and eating some moldy croissants.