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erectlocution ⊇ boxing jewels

‘Ware Not A Fitful Darkness

Echoing through much of a recent dialectic are remarks as to the despair sure to befall those without belief in a higher authority. Upon cursory reading—fine suggestion, WilsonChesterton also makes several comments to this effect, though madness, not simple despair, is his result. I have to concur somewhat: it can be quite the daunting occupation to have none but yourself to rely upon for guidance and whatever “purpose” can be had. However, I find this largely irrelevant.

It doesn’t follow that the truth need not be dire. Regarding claims of the fruitlessness, direness, or the like as illustrations or proof of absurdity, I say that these are relative terms, and would seem relevant to the argument only if we take as given a need for life, a purpose in it other than as a means to excrete and feed other life by dying. That effectively cuts to the heart of the issue, and begs the question of whether or not humanity exists to serve a designed purpose.

Furthermore, to support the existence of a designed Reason with the despair certain in its absence is tantamount to “finding religion” as a means of escapism, and it should be insulting—to the believer. Clear said, “There are no atheists in foxholes”; and I say that grenades don’t make believers. That this is a refrain in the few serious discussions about morality and its source(s) in which I’ve participated (or at least skulked) only dilutes the argument for a Reason by design. More than mere delusion, it appears circular: believing in a higher authority because the only alternative is a dire life in its absence presupposes that the universe cares a whit about our station. Again, that points to the face of the question, and is unconvincing.

I in no way wish to counter that life can be desperate. It has, does, and by all indications, will, from time to time, become so. I do counter that it must be so in the absence of an extrahuman power, man-jerk or otherwise. I find it unfortunate both that the believer is oft characterized as a zealous mystic, ignorant of fact; and that the nonbeliever is characterized as suffering from a melancholic humor, lost and listless.

To say that death is the only viable option in a world without an intrinsic, enterprising purpose is to say that life lived for its own sake is not viable. If a morality devoid of extrahuman stewardship requires no distinction between raping and not raping, then there can’t be any differentiation between the choice to live and the choice to die. Even if the world of the nonbeliever is this absurd, there still is no de facto reason for suicide. Even if life is nothing more than a protracted process of cellular division and decay, of conversion of energy into food into energy, why is living not a justifiable choice?

Consider, then, that even the nonbeliever can accommodate a belief in something grander than himself: an elegant proof; a refinement of a physical theory; the next quirky thing your son says. All are informing, all contribute to making you more than you were before them. Even oppression, persecution, and assault are potentially additive, if variably unpleasant. Those who don’t believe it was created are not necessarily restricted from admiring the natural world—this is no one’s special province.

I awake each morning and rise, not because today will be better than yesterday; but because today is today, and is not yesterday.


6 Comments

If humans are formed by a Creator, then what purpose do we have? Christians think that they have an answer? How do they know what there purpose is on Earth? By taking a book composed by ‘divinely’ inspired people, that has been translated multiple times, and interpreting it into an appliable set of guidelines and expectations to live by, or for?
In my experience there is no superior form of thinking or way of explaining how we were formed and for what purpose. If so, please show me. And if it’s provable, I won’t believe it. Kidding

Daniel, your reasoning almost works for me. I certainly don’t find it listless or lost, because honestly, I think it is a great reflection of the way I and most humans are prone to act in their daily, real-world, non-philosophical lives. When someone else challenges even the most petty of our actions, how often do we think (and say) _what’s it to you?_

This is where the real delicacy lies. The lack of tolerance employed by both sides of the argument produces the type of aggressive distrust Danielle has so kindly displayed for us. Though Danielle may not be one of them, it’s impossible to deny that there are critics of the Christian faith, as steeped in fact as they me, that are just as dogged and overbearing when it comes to this discussion. The problem is, that while more tolerance is necessary on both sides, I think that tolerance in the absolute will create a dangerous sort of human chaos that certainly can’t be called peace. So long as people have opposing beliefs on the way life ought to be lived, and what constitutes right or wrong, they will never be able to have true peace. I don’t see beliefs globally merging anytime soon. Those who worship tolerance and treat it as a cure aren’t in search of virtue (as tolerance _isn’t_ one), but worshipping comfort (with a healthy dose of fear). So long as people _believe_ in something, we’ll never be able to _tolerate_ each other, despite our claims. The challenge is to engage - to wage peace with one another, and to treat each other with the dignity and respect that each of us desires (even if we don’t deserve it).

Danielle, most of the Christians you hear from (as it sounds as though it’s quite possible that no one you deeply love shares my faith) may be just the sort that talk about something that is a provable fact in the face of you, the ignorant heathen. The latter of which, to all my knowledge, you may be - but I have nothing to prove (and no reason to call you such things in seriousness). It is something I believe, not something I know. This doesn’t mean that I don’t use my mind to believe. Many a great theological mind and average Christians alike would say the same. The Bible isn’t easy to buy into (there are some serious gaps, discrepancies, confusions, etc.), but it isn’t terribly easy to throw out either, no matter which direction you’re coming from (scientific, historical, archeological). Of the mature Christians I know, most all of them would say that it is something they _choose_ to believe, not a fact that they cannot ignore. The canonical texts and clergy aren’t what seal the deal for them though, even though this is the most visible aspect of the Christian faith to non-believers. It is also a matter of experience, the way in which one sees creation, and it’s unfair to call it ignorance. In fact, the more I learn about science and history, the weaker my own doubts become. Many Christian minds like mine aren’t ignoring all that has been learned and discovered. In fact, they find much (if not most) of it reconcilable and (more importantly) encouraging to what they believe.

So back to you Daniel, and our _what’s it to you_ problem. In a way, the twentieth century has made this discussion far more delicate than ever before, as notions of both tolerance and privacy have become widespread and emphasized. They have had their effects on both sides of the argument. For the anti-establishment non-believers, legislation of morality is a severely intolerant infraction of their privacy, and for the believers, their very _personal_ faith becomes a matter of their own privacy - as they fear the guilt and shame of not personally responding to the cultural elements that encroach their beliefs.

Now even though you and I have opposing views of what is right or wrong, or even _if_ there is right or wrong in any crystal clear sense, I simply mean to say that although my daily behavior (which is often selfish) at times reflects your personal philosophy, I could never accept it as the doctrine of my way of being. It simply doesn’t seem to take others into account, not in any meaningful way. I’ve heard a lot of eighteen-year-olds say that they live _because today is today_, as you have. While such statements may prevent you from understanding consequences and responsibilities, I wonder how much you really care about them. I think young men stop using such a flat system of philosophy once they have gotten their girlfriend pregnant, or realized that nobody (not even husbands and wives) stays in love forever (once the short glory fades it’s a choice, not a automatic state of mind, no?). Those who don’t recognize the importance of yesterday and tomorrow go on without responsibility, creating more relationships that they will ultimately hurt in an unacceptable way. They go on loving, marrying, and re-marrying - it’s really all about _their_ story. They go on thinking too, liberating themselves really - they often call it “freeing” despite the trail of hurt they leave behind them (sort of like the “liberation” of Iraq, really). They’ve got a philosophy that works for them. However if every man were to choose it, humanity wouldn’t _work_ at all (not that it’s running well as is). You may or may not be one of these men, but your power-points and closers come dangerously close.

I think part of it is human nature (in it’s _fallen_ state of course), and the second, more dangerous part is one’s decision to embrace that nature, as it seems that there is nothing inherently wrong with it. We all think we’re fairly good people. We’re all wrong.

It’s isn’t always easy to tell how selfish we’re truly being. You’ve discussed the fragile decision you made to choose life for your daughter. Ultimately, you couldn’t end the life of a born baby, so why an unborn, you rightly asked. Though I feel you made the right decision, I fail to see how your method was really an appraisal of any sort of right or wrong, even your own. Wasn’t it simply a matter of what would make you feel the most satisfied (or the least dissatisfied)? You said yourself it was what _you_ couldn’t live with. Is that morality or a simple need for comfort? And when your daughter encounters the challenges of her life, if you really did choose her existence only because it made you feel better about yourself, I wonder if it will feel good then, much less right (according to your own shifting morality).

Appreciating something beyond yourself, such as an elegant proof or your son’s quirky ramblings is nothing more than _appreciating something_. You only speak of additive _pleasure_ which “makes you” something better than you were before, which is hardly unselfish. Believers aren’t talking about pleasure, they’re talking about recognizing who you are and who you aren’t. Recognizing that when we do things our way, we hurt more than we help.

If I may play Socrates for a moment (how terribly annoying, I know), do you propose that you _aren’t_ selfish, by both your nature and philosophy? If not, how? And if so, why do you think you’re so important? Why isn’t it wrong? Has your way not caused serious damage to the humanity that you so love to…appreciate?

Danielle:

What is your experience? Maybe that would help us understand; and maybe Robert would be less inclined to call you a heathen. It’s not likely (as I’m sure he’d agree), but it might be worth a try if you care.

Robert:

“The problem is, that while more tolerance is necessary on both sides, I think that tolerance in the absolute will create a dangerous sort of human chaos that certainly can’t be called peace.”

Quite right. Absolute tolerance would remove any capacity for individuality, and, as selfish as it is inherently, individuality is paramount to society. Still, I’m not fearful of any future state of absolute tolerance, not only because we’re not even remotely well aligned to that destination, but also because it’s an unreachable maximum.

“The Bible isn’t easy to buy into (there are some serious gaps, discrepancies, confusions, etc.), but it isn’t terribly easy to throw out either, no matter which direction you’re coming from (scientific, historical, archeological).”

I’ll be the first to espouse my practical ignorance of the Bible. Sure, I know some of the popular stories as rough anecdotes; but I’ve never studied them to any useful degree. This is something I’m aiming to remedy. Still, I thinks it’s reasonable to suggest that, being a text written with some historical context and content, the Bible may be difficult to throw out for similar reasons that it’s difficult to throw out other historical texts. I’d be curious to know why you believe it is hard to throw out altogether.

“The canonical texts and clergy aren’t what seal the deal for [mature Christians I know] though, even though this is the most visible aspect of the Christian faith to non-believers.”

I think it’s a hard case to prove that that isn’t the most visible aspect of the Christian faith to believers and nonbelievers alike, and this contributes to the weakness of the popular body of Christianity. Perfunctory church attendance on Sunday, the effusive rhetoric in Christian propaganda (including Christian “music”), and the like contribute to a real and perceived weakness of Christianity as a social movement: it is a perceived weakness because it’s apparent how so many profess belief but bear none of the symptoms too openly; and it’s real because among the flock are nonbelievers in sheep’s clothing.

It may seem odd, but I find this nearly as distressing as you, Robert and Danielle, must. The fact that I don’t share a faith in a God doesn’t mean I don’t share a distaste for reflexive ignorance, and orthodoxy thereupon based. It is quite the case that my distaste is omnidirectional, and considers also the closed dogma of science and politics, for instance.

“In fact, the more I learn about science and history, the weaker my own doubts become. Many Christian minds like mine aren’t ignoring all that has been learned and discovered. In fact, they find much (if not most) of it reconcilable and (more importantly) encouraging to what they believe.”

I still hold to the view that, by and large, science and systems of faith are potentially reconcilable because they are largely noncompetitive, that they address different classes of questions. The absence of any God does not follow from the idea that the universe started as an explosive burst. I’m interested to know how scientific answers can encourage your faith, though, for the same reason.

“I’ve heard a lot of eighteen-year-olds say that they live _because today is today_, as you have. While such statements may prevent you from understanding consequences and responsibilities, I wonder how much you really care about them.”

You seem to take unfounded liberties with my statement. A lot of eighteen-year-olds may say the same words, but, in my experience, they echo the hollow misapprehension of Robert Williams’ famous line from Dead Poets Society. That I don’t require the belief that today will be better than yesterday as a foundation for my choice to continue living does not imply that I am functionally disconnected from consequences and responsibilities.

As to whether and to what degree my brand of philosophy takes others into account, in any meaningful way, that will, again, be a point of semantic differentiation between us, I’m sure. Apprehending as you do some fair impression of my beliefs, you would no doubt counter any of my professed burdens of meaningfulness as being inextricably rooted in my selfishness, and, as such, that they make for nothing meaningful whatsoever. You would, then, not be at all surprised that I agree with the first clause, but not the second, and ’round we’d go. Again, we see the face of the question.

“You’ve discussed the fragile decision you made to choose life for your daughter. Ultimately, you couldn’t end the life of a born baby, so why an unborn, you rightly asked. Though I feel you made the right decision, I fail to see how your method was really an appraisal of any sort of right or wrong, even your own. Wasn’t it simply a matter of what would make you feel the most satisfied (or the least dissatisfied)? You said yourself it was what _you_ couldn’t live with. Is that morality or a simple need for comfort?”

My wording was wishy-washy, but amounted to saying that I’d made the decision of a threshold “below which I couldn’t bear but think that delivery would be into a horrible world for her.” While I attribute the focus of my decision, superficially, to what I can bear, it is not at all uncommon for issues of morality to be couched in terms of what morality a person is comfortable saddling. I could have equivalently written of a threshold “below which, it would be wrong to do anything but end her life,” with the implication (as evinced by my writing that at all) that I couldn’t bear to do the immoral thing. I find nothing wrong with being emotionally attached to a moral conviction, though I wouldn’t expect one to necessitate the other. Just as a moral choice can be a painful choice, so must we accept (maybe hope) that it may be pleasant.

All the same, I wrote that from a position of uncertainty, and so can’t claim to have more than approximated morality. That I, in retrospect, made the same decision, the right decision, a moral man would is not really to my credit. I consider the situation fortuitous, then, that I made the right choice if only by accident. However, if I am struck postnatal by the brutal reality that I allowed this girl to be delivered into a cruel joke of a life for no better reason than to avoid unpleasantness, yes, I should feel a horrible wretch, and not at all righteous.

“Appreciating something beyond yourself, such as an elegant proof or your son’s quirky ramblings is nothing more than _appreciating something_. You only speak of additive _pleasure_ which “makes you” something better than you were before, which is hardly unselfish.”

I very clearly do not speak only of additive “pleasure”. The rest I’ll accept for now.

“Believers aren’t talking about pleasure, they’re talking about recognizing who you are and who you aren’t.”

Given that this is a definition of the individual, and, necessarily focuses on the individual, how is it unselfish?

“Recognizing that when we do things our way, we hurt more than we help.”

I certainly “appreciate” that selfishness may hurt more than help. This is like tolerance, in that either taken to either absolute (absence or omnipresence) results in utter peacelessness. There can be no healthy intolerance, no waging of peace, without the selfish belief that your acts approach conformity with what is morally good.

This is a conundrum at the heart of nonbelief, at least the nonbelief of this nonbeliever: how is it that the believer can act at all with any profound faith that her actions do any justice to God’s design? If the believer discounts her own perception as an indication of just how flawed she is, faith notwithstanding, how then can she be empowered to hope she will become less so?

You claimed that “[The Christian faith] is also a matter of experience, the way in which one sees creation, and it’s unfair to call it ignorance.” Experience is necessarily selfish, especially characterized as “the way in which one sees creation”. I’m surprised you didn’t feel the least bit the blasphemer to have written that, presuming as you must have that how you see creation has any bearing on whether or not you should believe.

“[D]o you propose that you _aren’t_ selfish, by both your nature and philosophy?”

Not at all.

“And if so, why do you think you’re so important?”

Living is the single most selfish thing we can do. As such, I am not significantly more or less selfish than anyone else, and, so, am not at all important. I do not take food and drink to celebrate the wonders afforded me and my brethren by any god—I take food and drink so that I may live.

“Has your way not caused serious damage to the humanity that you so love to…appreciate?”

I would be surprised if you could quote me as ever having even insinuated that I love to appreciate humanity. If you can, please do, else I should go around with the shirt-tail of my inconsistency sticking out, and that’s just not good form.

To the point, my way has caused only whatever damage results from any of us living. We are built to live (excuse my poorly placed use of metaphor—I do not mean that we were designed and built to live), even to make use of advantageous adaptations at the expense of others when necessary. It is not so simplistically Darwinian as that; but it is no easier to throw out than is the Bible.

What’s it to you?

Believers aren’t talking about pleasure, they’re talking about recognizing who you are and who you aren’t.

Given that this is a definition of the individual, and, necessarily focuses on the individual, how is it unselfish?

Recognizing one’s place is not the same as being selfish. You’ve expanded your definition however, to include all that deals with the self in any way. We both know this isn’t what I’m talking about, but to the point - you’ve fallen in unintentionally placed trap with this question. It is a definition of the individual, yes, and focuses on the individual yes. But not really. Christians will refer to scripture that I have already used once in this discussion (weeks ago), and that is that you (common man) are not your own. Before anything else, that is the definition of who you are. So yes, it’s a subject that revolves around the self, but hardly one that points to it. There is a difference, no?

I think this is where having an understanding of some of the scripture helps, both in that which I lazily refer to (as I have done above) and with your question regarding why I can’t simply throw it out. I’ll try to do better in the future.

You claimed that “[The Christian faith] is also a matter of experience, the way in which one sees creation, and it’s unfair to call it ignorance.” Experience is necessarily selfish, especially characterized as “the way in which one sees creation”. I’m surprised you didn’t feel the least bit the blasphemer to have written that, presuming as you must have that how you see creation has any bearing on whether or not you should believe.

Again, you misunderstand me. I am certain however that we can chalk this up to my lack of skills as a communicator. When I called the Christian faith a matter of experience, I meant just that, in reference to Danielle’s questions - which expressed an essential and understandable confusion. I did not however, call the Christian story a matter of personal experience. 20th century trends have done this for many a believer, no doubt, and they have confused their faith’s purpose, their place, and their importance. But what I was speaking of was simply why I do or do not believe. I believe in the light because by it, I see everything else. It is fair for others to call it an illusion, and impossible for me make someone see it my way if they do not want to. At the same time, it’s impossible for me to accept that it’s a relative light, or a truth that works just for me, because it’s the only truth I see. Again, my point was that this is not why it’s the truth, but how I believe it’s the truth, which is were the personal element comes in. I hope you see why I don’t consider myself a blasphemer. If not, I’ll drink some coffee and try again.

Living is the single most selfish thing we can do. As such, I am not significantly more or less selfish than anyone else, and, so, am not at all important. I do not take food and drink to celebrate the wonders afforded me and my brethren by any god—I take food and drink so that I may live.

I find it rather bold that you’ve sketched the entire human race on one equal plane of morality by the simple fact that because we’re alive, we’re already as selfish as we could be - so what’s the difference. You’ve made a fair case for living (not my favorite), but if you haven’t noticed, I’ve moved on to how you’re living. And to me, this is where your arguments all sort of fall on top of one another whilst vommiting and choking and dying. But it’s also a delicate subject, between two men who hardly know one another. You’ve essentially said that our actions, as different as they may be, are more alike than they are different, that we’re all the same sort of beast, by the fact that we’re trying to stay alive. And I wonder how many great men you’ve known. I myself haven’t known many, but the few have left an impression upon me that brings great clarity to the fact that true selfishness isn’t life but a way of life. And while I don’t know how truly selfish you are, that you’ve basically said “yes, I’m selfish, and yes, I’ve left a trail of tears - but who hasn’t?” speaks further to my unwillingness to accept your assertions.

In a way, this is where the rubber meets the road, because what I’m talking about is hard to write about if someone hasn’t seen it. By no means do I mean to say that you haven’t, but I don’t know if you have, and I’m at a loss for where to begin. By your statements, I have reason to believe that forgiveness is something you seek only to make that average human trail of yours smoother, and with that in mind, I might doubt you seek it very often. What purpose have you in seeking forgiveness, do you really believe you’ve wronged anyone? The self-centered Christian experience that I speak of is one of the endless seeking of forgiveness, the endless humility. It sounds awful, but it isn’t so bad. Because the experience is also one of forgetting yourself, not forging a new you (and morality), in the smitty of your soul.

But again, I wish this wasn’t all we had. I wish you lived close by. I’d introduce you to these revolutionary idiots I know, that think humans have a choice, and that there can certainly be a difference between the life they lead and the next. They spend a great deal of time seeking social justice, giving people who haven’t had a chance a gracious chance, and giving people who’ve had about seventy-seven chances one too (I fall into the latter category myself). These people are weird - because they’re smart, selfless, and uncomfortably generous. Oh, and they meet at a church.

I don’t know Daniel, there’s just more to it. It’s in relationship really (again - the experience thing, but not really a selfish thing). My inabilities as a writer are holding me back tonight. I know you’ve met the kind of guy where you say “now that guy’s decent”, but usually that’s just a guy who made something easier for us. Haven’t you met someone you can call nothing but Good? Haven’t you walked away from a man knowing that honestly, in some nameless way that has nothing to do with intellect or even actions that he’s better than you? Someone whom after you meeting you can’t help but recognize that there is a real there there. He may or may not have been a believer, but it is clear that he believes he has a choice in things, something that stems from his humility - not his interest in being a “better person”.

The movement is the way it is (you call it weak, I find that assesment to be a rather local one) because Christians are first and foremost men and women. They deal with depression, doubt, and constant imperfection. Moreover, some of them lose sight of those imperfections, and believe in their own infallibility - which almost always results in loudness also. Employing imperfect beings to tell a perfect story can only result in the sort of daily joke the church as a body has grown to be. But it has grown, despite it’s history of mistakes and terror.

Good men may be few in comparison to the rest, but they are hard to deny. And just because the vast majority of humanity gets it wrong, I’m not sure why that’s an excuse to go on hurting and suffering like the rest. I guess I’d be interested in knowing why you allow yourself to love.

“Recognizing one’s place is not the same as being selfish. You’ve expanded your definition however, to include all that deals with the self in any way. We both know this isn’t what I’m talking about…”

I’m sure you didn’t necessarily mean the same brand of “selfishness”; but at the same time some part of our discussion has amounted to sharing definitions to motivate clarity or, well, not persuasion per se …but something like it. I wasn’t, it bears noting, attempting to repurpose your definition as a covert forensic tactic.

“It is a definition of the individual, yes, and focuses on the individual yes. But not really. Christians will refer to scripture that I have already used once in this discussion (weeks ago), and that is that you (common man) are not your own. Before anything else, that is the definition of who you are. So yes, it’s a subject that revolves around the self, but hardly one that points to it. There is a difference, no?”

I can discern the distinction. I don’t claim to understand the distinction—it seems like so much mystic mumbo-jumbo—but I would like to.

“Again, you misunderstand me. … When I called the Christian faith a matter of experience, I meant just that… I did not however, call the Christian story a matter of personal experience.”

At the surface, this can appear a contradiction. I have no question that, to the believer at the very least, it does not appear so. This should hopefully either become demonstrated or obviated on my further review of Christianity.

Living is the single most selfish thing we can do.

“I find it rather bold that you’ve sketched the entire human race on one equal plane of morality by the simple fact that because we’re alive, we’re already as selfish as we could be - so what’s the difference.”

I did construct such a plane, but to say that because we all, though living, share in the “single most selfish thing” is not the same as saying that “we’re already as selfish as we could be - so what’s the difference[?]” To wit: that our language is possibly the single most prolific of the skills which separate human animals from the others does not mean what everyone has to say is of the same import.

“[W]hile I don’t know how truly selfish you are, that you’ve basically said “yes, I’m selfish, and yes, I’ve left a trail of tears - but who hasn’t?” speaks further to my unwillingness to accept your assertions.”

I quote this to note that, as it can’t be shown that I claimed, with defiant indifference, that I’ve left a “trail of tears”, you have as much extended my intended connotation of “selfishness” as I did yours. I think it’s curious logic, though: if your definition of selfishness is the leaving of such a trail, and since you’ve agreed that we are all selfish, you will as much as have phrased it thusly yourself. There are nuances I’m overlooking; and I’m sure that you’ll respond that there’s a difference between simply accepting—even embracing this nature—and toiling humbly to correct such nature. If that’s the response, I would say that it presumes acceptance implies disaffection. I similarly accept that I am ignorant, and will likely never be as enlightened as I’d prefer; but nevertheless I toil to correct that. Forgive my taking liberties with your spirit.

“I wish you lived close by. I’d introduce you to these revolutionary idiots I know, that think humans have a choice, and that there can certainly be a difference between the life they lead and the next. … These people are weird - because they’re smart, selfless, and uncomfortably generous. Oh, and they meet at a church.”

You seem to think I conflate using a church as a meeting place, even on Sundays, even every Sunday, with the sort of automatonous, ignorant attendance of “church” that is the touchstone of popular religion in the U.S. I don’t. A church is a building—“church” is a state of mindlessness. How the nature of “church”, as such, isn’t a weakness, is beyond me (you may say, “It’s good that you can admit this.”).

“Haven’t you met someone you can call nothing but Good? … He may or may not have been a believer, but it is clear that he believes he has a choice in things, something that stems from his humility - not his interest in being a “better person”.”

It may be the mark of extreme cynicism, but I can’t think of any such person. There are plenty of people who are better than me in the sense you mean (that is, not to pervert your intent with some idea of being better at chess or some other triviality); but it would seem that none of them meet the standard you’ve specified. Whether this is because I’ve simply managed to elude them, haven’t taken the time to notice them, or whatever else, I don’t know.

One theme resounding through these commentaries of yours is exactly why I wrote this piece in the first place. It seems that your position (and, by proxy if not more intimately, the position of all believers) is that it is only through belief that humanity can find something of value beyond base pleasure. I can’t support an argument that even the strongest sort of appreciation for a sublime aesthetic is anything more than a complex arrangement of baser emotion. However, the sublime is different from the base, else the Christian movement is as profane as its faithless proponents. This doesn’t imply, though, that we’re doomed to moribundity.

Again (or further—I’m not sure), I think it’s this picture of the believer as the doomsayer that raises the hairs on the nonbeliever’s neck. It isn’t always warranted, of course. The believer is not categorically repudiating the nonbeliever’s claim of/to humanity, not always pointing at and deriding the nonbeliever. The same can be said of the nonbeliever’s intent. It’s easy, though, to wage not peace but condemnation.

So, it is not only that such rebuffing irks me personally, but more generally that I find it devisive. There is no way for either view to see one another through a haze of ignorance (including my own aforementioned variety). Thus, our dialogue: can you believe I’m thankful for it?

Not a word of this response surprises me. My dissatisfaction with my last comment is comfirmed by your return. I say with sincerity and humility that there are some things I am better at showing (and adding words to, if necessary) than writing. And yet I knew how my assertions would come off. There’s a point we can take this discussion that I’m not willing to reach without more stepping back, and infusing some reality.

For me, that means it would be far easier if we could just get lunch sometime (or several times), but we can’t. I urge you to stick around though, and I will too. I have a feeling that new elements of this conversation could arise out of just about anything we type. As simple as my beliefs are, I can’t defend the nature of all human believers, the purpose of the church (which I assure you, is not a place or a state of mind), or the state of our sinfulness in one sitting. And despite the gravity and skill with which you write, you haven’t effectively taken the keep yourself. It is simply too much. Cubism can’t be studied alone, you need to know about modernism, african art, and the caves in Lasceaux, you need to know about what came before, all the way back really. But you’re not going to get it until you study Picasso by himself (by which you can easily be reffered to the rest of the story). And it all takes a while. You see where I’m going. I think this analogy (or its frame) is one you might use in reference to my appraised ignorance just as I have yours, so I hope you aren’t insulted.

As for lunch, I’m a travelling man, who knows. Until then, I’ll see you at your place or mine, same time, same place, new topic.

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