Agnosticism

Doubt is like being a fish in three dimensions of transparency, with no plant called faith to hide behind.
I changed my fish’s water the other day. I put in a new filter which circulates the water, drawing it through a sponge to pump it out again, clean. It hadn’t struck me that this would mean the fish, which had spent its entire life with me hanging simple in still water, or lying supine against a leaf, would suddenly find himself beset by steep currents, which whirled him around his tank and sucked his food (red mosquito larvae) away from him anti-clockwise.
As soon as I put him into the moving water, he panicked. He shot up to the surface, slapping the meniscus with his body, then nose-dived to the gravel. For a fish whose most strenuous daily activity usually involves proceeding slowly around his tank with the air of a grave abbot moving from refectory to chapel, this was startling stuff. I turned off the water filter, and he sagged in a corner, metaphorically clutching his heart and panting.What must it be like to feel your world, your reality, suddenly move in a way you could never have expected, could not have credited or understood if it was explained to you? To see the locus of your time and space, the base material of your reality, begin to move as if it were a train pulling out of a station? For the fish if not for me, the bush was burning, the atom was split.