AntiViral Ep. 2: Missing Proof in Virology Claims
Exposing the broken chain of causation at the core of virology.
In this second AntiViral episode, I focus on the missing chain of causation—what I see as the most powerful evidence against germ “theory” and virology.
To prove that any microbe causes disease, there are agreed-upon scientific standards: evidence derived from the scientific method that satisfies Koch’s Postulates. Without this, claims of “pathogenicity” are both scientifically and logically invalid.
This episode explores:
- The CDC, NIH, and WHO’s own agreement that Koch’s Postulates are the necessary proof.
- The missing evidence: purified and isolated particles (presumed “viruses”) taken directly from sick patients without cell culture, then shown to cause the same disease naturally in controlled experiments.
- The complete inability to satisfy Koch’s Postulates, despite their universal recognition as logical criteria.
- The CDC’s admission that purification/isolation directly from patient fluids is “not possible” in virology.
- The pseudoscientific nature of cell culture methods used as a substitute for essential evidence.
- The deeper roots of this pseudoscience, stretching back to Edward Jenner and smallpox vaccination.
For a deeper dive into this missing evidence, my article The Chain of Causation provides full documentation, sourced directly from virology’s own trusted organizations.
The absence of this essential evidence is not a minor oversight—it strikes at the very heart of germ “theory” and virology. Without purification, isolation, and proof of “pathogenicity” that satisfies Koch’s Postulates, the claims rest on unproven assumptions. By exposing the broken chain of causation, we can begin to see virology for what it truly is: a house of cards built on faith, not scientific evidence.
1 Response
gf7777
Good video Mike. I sent it around. Let me tell you a little story.
The Drawing Without a Part: A Case Study in Epistemic Integrity and Biotechnological Oversight
Bob built his career on precision. In the manufacturing industry, he inspected physical parts—machined components destined for complex machinery. He measured dimensions against technical drawings, verified materials against certifications, and ensured every stage of production was signed off with traceable accountability. Nothing shipped without his approval. He was the final safeguard between process and product.
Then one day, a new colleague—who introduced himself as a virologist—offered Bob part-time work at a vaccine manufacturer. He accepted. The role, he was told, was similar: inspect the process, review the paperwork, sign off if everything aligned. Bob expected parts. He received paper.
The Stack of Documents—and a Drawing
There was no physical object. No machined part. No material to measure. Instead, Bob was handed a stack of documents detailing a process called virus isolation. He read carefully:
– A sample was taken from a patient.
– It was introduced into a cell culture.
– Electron micrographs were captured—images of what they claimed were viral particles.
– The sample was broken down into sequences.
– These sequences were labeled, fed into a computer, and assembled into a genome.
– A PCR test was performed on the patient, confirming presence of the virus.
Alongside the paperwork, they handed Bob something familiar: a technical drawing.
It was formatted like the ones he used daily. It specified dimensions in nanometers. It included sectional views showing internal components labeled as genetic code. There was a footnote with a long string of letters—A, C, G, U—representing the genome. The drawing even specified an external coating labeled protein coat. A note claimed the part was functional, capable of self-replication under specific conditions.
Bob paused. This was not a drawing of a machined part. It was a representation of a virus. But it was formatted like a mechanical component. It implied physicality. It implied inspectability. It implied truth.
But there was no part.
Where Was the Part?
Bob asked for the part. They pointed to the paperwork. He asked for the physical referent—the object whose features he could measure, whose material he could verify. They showed him images. He asked for internal structure, function, orientation. They showed him code.
He realized: this wasn’t inspection. It was belief. He was being asked to validate a process whose product was abstract—a genome assembled by software, inferred from sequences, modeled against references. There was no “part” in the traditional sense. And the drawing, though familiar in form, was not a blueprint—it was a metaphor.
Bob Refused to Sign
He explained his position: without a part, he could not inspect. Without inspection, he could not sign. They took him to the office. They asked if he had ever been involved in conspiracy theories. If he had ever disseminated misinformation. He said no.
They told him other inspectors had signed off. He said that didn’t matter. He held his ground. He was terminated. Escorted out.
The Philosophical Breach
This moment marked a rupture in epistemic integrity:
– In manufacturing, a drawing corresponds to a part.
– In biotech, a drawing may correspond to a model.
– But a model is not a part. It is a hypothesis rendered in visual form.
Bob was asked to collapse that distinction. He refused.
What Bob Defended
– Referential Integrity: A drawing must point to a real object, not a theoretical construct.
– Functional Verification: Claims of replication require observable, testable phenomena.
– Epistemic Boundaries: He upheld the line between physical inspection and abstract modeling.
Bob left that job. But he didn’t leave his principles. He still inspects parts. He still measures truth. And now, he carries the memory of a drawing that looked like reality—but wasn’t.