Good news! I don't have to title my blogs anymore. Blogger fixed it. I didn't submit a formal complaint about it, so they must have had some push-back from the rest of the blogosphere. I still don't intend to retroactively apply names to those poems for which I retroactively removed the names while I was doing my inutile protest against the necessity of names. But since I do think every poem should be named...This one is called, "The common denominator is that I don't know anything".

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Two books lay open before me, a third closed.

The first book describes me intimately, but it is not relatable to me. It expresses structure and order; the schematic for my life and being.

The second book is like chaos from chaos, confusion from confusion. It's utterly meaningless. I am made to blush by its rigorous prosecution of my self-expressions; my pretense.

The third I've never read, though I view it most often. I haven't understood a single letter of its contents, but its every word causes me much grief. I wish this book would never end, and I wish that it were a different book.

A vector intersects all books, terminating in complex inky splotches; fine dust once suspended comes to rest deep in the spongy surface of the page, dark and distinct, forming expressions expressing nothing, all wise.

I learn nothing, control nothing, grow not, change not. I'm hidden somewhere in these pages, never to surface.

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Been frustrated with my religious forums lately.  Every now and then I'll come across a sharp atheist who really presents a coherent argument and challenges me, or hears me out and gives a valuable critique of my position... but for the most part they're hard headed and dull; openly stating, up front,  that I have nothing of value to present; ridiculing Christianity rather than hearing and considering an argument for it. And their arguments are basically all the same: "I need evidence!"

But I'm observing that Christians are not much better, falling basically into three camps: bleeding heart gospel presenters, presuppers by stereotype (good at Sye, but bad at Van Till), and noobs arguing from the first cause. A fourth camp would be the outliers who appear to be careful thinkers, and who adjust their argument with feedback. I'd like to think I'm in this fourth group,  but I think it would be awfully arrogant of me to lump myself in with a group I am presenting as elite. I think,  among the three camps,  the first is simultaneously most noble, most effective,  most divisive, and most similar to the atheists that I described earlier, who I strongly dislike. 

The feelers who come in pleading with atheists to accept the simple gospel,  without argument,  on promise of salvation from hellfire, are most true to the cause.  Their message will be the fragrance of life for those predestined to be God's sheep.  Surely they aren't without wisdom, but like Paul they save that for the flock.  They invite ridicule and receive it plentifully without anger,  closing the conversation with cliche statements about how they're praying for the atheist,  or calling the atheist out directly and without shame for having a hardened heart.  

This group doesn't make much effort to hide the fact that they think atheism is bunk, and atheists have nothing of value to offer, but they present their message not as an attack on atheism,  rather a call to repentance and faith.  Surely these will inherit the earth.

I want to be more like that. Shamelessly plugging the simple gospel and inviting ridicule like a total imbecile (according to the world's standards,  and mind you most of the haters are just as much plugging their simple darwinism)... but I have an attachment to my argument. It's not just an argument -- through the years it's maintained my faith in a way. You might say my reason for believing is my argument,  but you might also say that my faith doesn't depend on the success or failure of my argument. 

I've told several people that I'd be willing to leave Christianity if someone presented a more logical alternative,  but some recent conversations I've had with Muslims made me realize that this might not be true.  Islam is big, but it's easy to understand, and the trinity has never made sense to anyone. I'm not convinced that I would allow trinity-"esque" explanations for phenomena in any other context,  so why do I allow it here? I can justify myself by saying it's "not a contradiction,  but rather a paradox", and paradoxes are in every field of study,  but really... this isn't just a paradox.  We all but love the fact that nobody will ever understand it fully -- it's a paradox with no comprehensible solution,  so it undermines the idea that all truth is available to me,  and causes me to wonder what reasonable boundaries can be drawn between available and unavailable truth. 

No, I suppose I don't accept Christianity simply on the grounds that it is the most logical religion (although I do maintain that it is so,  and the trinity, incomprehensible or not,  appears to be a necessary component to solving certain other philosophical problems,  such as the One and the Many). I think my commitment to Christianity is such that I'm incapable of leaving it, regardless of the evidence or argument presented to me.  It's not a matter of being "convinced" anymore -- it's an attachment that I intend to stubbornly cling to until my grave,  whether it appears to be true or not -- and I contest that it will never really appear to be untrue. I depend fully on the promise of the shed blood of Christ. 

So having said that... can I still work on my argument in good conscience? Am I capable of intellectual honesty anymore? Maybe I should just be a bleeding heart gospel presenter. 

.... should I though?

"Apologize for your facial expression!"