Irrationality, as has been variously eluded throughout the course of this text, is the psycho-emotional mentality that enables man to perceive (or “intuit”) experiential phenomena that is, upon immediate and superficial “reflection”, believed to have originated outside, foreign to, and estranged from the coherent continuity of one’s own teleological narrative. The hope (or fear) with all irrationalists is that such an inexplicable phenomenon will remain as such and even increase in its inexplicable strangeness to the extent that it will eventually become completely irreconcilable to and with one’s persistent teleological narrative, at which point it begins to assume characteristics that may be considered “otherworldly”, unintelligible, sacral, and in some rarefied cases, “divine”. When it reaches such a state, said irrationality will always be considered divine and remain thus incongruous with and to said narrative, forever looming ominously overhead or brooding eerily behind and beyond a man’s sense of reality which in every way compels such a one to prostrate before and be in constant fear of unintelligible, divine incursion and interference which, if sufficiently internalized by Reason via the creatively Rational spirit from the start, would have, in fact, amplified man’s sense of reality by exalting the narrative possibilities of his experiences, thereby intensifying the potentiality of experience itself (and by it, also life) which is the sole means by which a man might acquire a higher, more lofty, nuanced and difficult understanding of the beautiful and terrifying Truth in which he cannot help but inhabit.
In all ways and by all means is irrationality a gift.
In a sense, the only way a man is able to actually grow in understanding and wisdom is – like the alien offerings of the Magi to the Christ child – through the strange gifts that irrationality provides, their absence which condemns a man to the incessant refinement of and eventual institutionalization and moral entrenchment of “the same ol’ thing”, evermore and always that “same ol’ thing” which cannot and will never amplify man’s understanding of truth, reality, beauty and its surrounds, at least not to the degree that his thirsty heart longs and wanton mind yearns. Such entrenchment will either torment a man unending until old age has satisfied him irreversibly by undermining his teleological ability to ever integrate a single, solitary experience that might appear even a little beyond the comprehensibility of his stunted senility.
Devil walks into bar. Orders drink. Asks Philosopher sitting next to him: “And what do you do?”