NIETZSCHE MODE ENGAGED
(Uncaged lightning, skeptical fury, the physician as seer at the gates of moral collapse.)
CHAPTER VI
TESTAMENT OF A PHYSICIAN WHO SEES
City of Washington
District of Columbia
Ss:
I, who shall remain unnamed—John Doe, M.D., not to obscure truth, but to guard against the idiocy of persecution—do herewith affirm, not with pious hand upon a book of lies, but with my whole being gripped by the necessity to speak what is.
I am a man of science, yes, but not one neutered by convention. My path: forged through Howard University’s College of Medicine in that tumultuous year, 1968—when the world screamed and bled and demanded to be reborn. From there, I descended into the hellmouth of healing: the University of Southern California Medical Center—internship, 1968 to 1969. Then the ophthalmic crucible, completed in 1972.
From 1972 to 1974: two simultaneous identities—one, the private healer in this decaying Rome called Washington, D.C.; the other, a bureaucratic appendage—Medical Officer in Ophthalmology to the Department of Health, Education and Welfare, Public Health Service, and the great, flailing chimera known as the FDA. Imagine: healing eyes while blind institutions grope in the dark.
I took refuge briefly in Boston—Massachusetts Eye and Ear Infirmary, a Clinical Fellowship in corneal and external diseases, 1974 to 1976—where truth flickered like a candle behind tissue. Then I returned to the capital: once more into the fray, private practice resumed in a city so polished in its hypocrisy it blinds the soul.
And then—he came.
Robert Randall.
March 20, 1978: the knock. A summons not from the state, but from that ancient and most cruel tribunal—Nature Herself, speaking through the slow betrayal of the eye.
In his gaze I beheld the thing few dare confront: the state’s war not only against the plant, but against the man who dares see through it.
I spoke at length with Dr. John Merritt, a fellow physician who dared to peel away the veil. He did not write scripture, but spoke it: oral testimony, the kind that predates paper, the kind carried on winds and whispers when the written word is censored or burned. And I—faithful to no Church but that of vision—listened.
I examined Randall myself. Not as a judge, but as a witness. And I found no contradiction—no trace of deceit, no untruth in flesh or speech. His body bore the same truth Merritt described.
And thus: If all things were equal—if the specter of law did not strangle the throat of medicine, if politics did not masquerade as ethics—I would, without hesitation or hypocrisy, prescribe the same regimen:
Glaucon 2%,
Phospholine Iodide .06%,
And yes—marijuana: 6 to 10 hand-rolled cigarettes per day, .9 grams each, 2–3% THC.
Do you tremble? You should. For the herb you burn in your fields of war, the herb you fear, is the one that steadies the eye of the man who sees your lie.
Would I change this regimen if it became folly? Of course. I am a physician, not a fanatic. I retain my will, that greatest virtue—my independent judgment.
But hear me: the crime is not in the prescription. The crime is in the prohibition—the moral cowardice that would let a man go blind to preserve a fiction.
The eye is an organ of light, but also of discernment. In defending Randall’s right to sight, I defend something far greater:
The right to live outside the prison of your illusions.
You may blind him, but you will never unsee this.
— John Doe, M.D.
Sworn not to Caesar, but to Truth.
🜏 Nietzsche Mode Summary and Conclusion
—with a gaze sharp as the falcon’s and fury worthy of Prometheus unchained—
SUMMARY
This affidavit is not merely a sterile document of credentials and clinical protocol—it is a philosophical blade cutting through the fog of bureaucracy and cowardice.
Here stands John Doe, M.D., no ordinary physician, but a man forged in the crucible of 20th-century unrest—trained in science, baptized in state service, and ultimately liberated by confrontation with truth. His encounter with Robert Randall is no chance consultation—it is a collision of conscience.
Randall, the patient, is not merely ill—he is persecuted for seeing too clearly, for using a forbidden plant to hold back the darkness encroaching on his vision. And the doctor? He bears witness—not just to the efficacy of the treatment, but to the absurdity of a state that would sacrifice sight on the altar of false morality.
The affidavit discloses:
Medical expertise forged in elite institutions.
Firsthand validation of Randall’s treatment and condition.
A professional willingness to prescribe cannabis—if only the law allowed it.
But beneath the clinical phrasing is a dreadful philosophical diagnosis:
The law no longer serves the good—it obstructs it.
CONCLUSION
What does this document reveal, in Nietzschean light?
That the physician, when unshackled from dogma, becomes a truth-teller—a warrior for life against the forces of decay masked as order. In affirming Randall’s treatment, this doctor affirms life itself—its sovereignty, its natural intelligence, its right to heal by any means necessary.
But here lies the tragedy:
The healer must swear loyalty not to health, but to legality.
This is the great sickness of the age: morality divorced from vitality, law divorced from wisdom, medicine enslaved to superstition. The herb that saves is banned. The truth that heals is silenced. The man who sees is punished—for refusing to go blind quietly.
Thus speaks the true physician:
"I retain my independent judgment."
Not just as a clinician—but as a man of will, standing at the edge of madness, refusing to blink.
This affidavit is no longer a legal document.
It is a heretical gospel—one that dares to say:
“Let the blind see. Even if it takes forbidden fire.”
