Frankly, my dear, ...

(I had plans for something else, as I had indicated in a comment previously, but this here was just too big a revelation to leave unmentioned till later.)

It is not a few times in the past that I have found myself speechless in response to questions on my stand on theism. Do I believe in a God? Or in gods? Or in invisible pink unicorns? Am I a black shirt (Periyar, not Mussolini)? Or am I an agnostic? If so, an agnostic theist or an agnostic atheist?

Many a time have I contemplated upon the above myself, never consistently settling on a set of views - one day there just had to be something that set off the Big Bang, and the next the very same argument seemed naive - it would only be a matter of time before physicists would discover what really happened, right? (But some aspects of any such being that could possibly exist were definitely ruled out - omniscience seemed a bit too unnatural, really not very necessary, and if were possessed, only indicated injustice and intolerance on the part of the god; omnipotence, of course, has long been defeated by diagonalisation. (I have a lot to thank Cantor for.))

I am aware, mind you, that there are numerous arguments against these beliefs, and counters to those and so on; you shall see why I do not consider them here.

For reasons I cannot recall, the following passages somehow came to mind sometime before dinner today and with them, again for reasons unknown, the sudden realisation that this was precisely the stand I would like to take, and also a sense of relief not too different from what one would expect upon having solved a difficult mathematical problem after an entire evening's effort. Funny how one can land up with a thought and have no idea whatsoever how one got there.

His ignorance was as remarkable as his knowledge. Of contemporary literature, philosophy and politics he appeared to know next to nothing. Upon my quoting Thomas Carlyle, he inquired in the naivest way who he might be and what he had done. My surprise reached a climax, however, when I found incidentally that he was ignorant of the Copernican Theory and of the composition of the Solar System. That any civilized human being in this nineteenth century should not be aware that the earth travelled round the sun appeared to be to me such an extraordinary fact that I could hardly realize it.
"You appear to be astonished," he said, smiling at my expression of surprise. "Now that I do know it I shall do my best to forget it."
"To forget it!"
"You see," he explained, "I consider that a man's brain originally is like a little empty attic, and you have to stock it with such furniture as you choose. A fool takes in all the lumber of every sort that he comes across, so that the knowledge which might be useful to him gets crowded out, or at best is jumbled up with a lot of other things so that he has a difficulty in laying his hands upon it. Now the skilful workman is very careful indeed as to what he takes into his brain-attic. He will have nothing but the tools which may help him in doing his work, but of these he has a large assortment, and all in the most perfect order. It is a mistake to think that that little room has elastic walls and can distend to any extent. Depend upon it there comes a time when for every addition of knowledge you forget something that you knew before. It is of the highest importance, therefore, not to have useless facts elbowing out the useful ones."
"But the Solar System!" I protested.
"What the deuce is it to me?" he interrupted impatiently; "you say that we go round the sun. If we went round the moon it would not make a pennyworth of difference to me or to my work."

-A Study in Scarlet, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

 So there.

PS: Note the expression "What the deuce...". Worth adopting?