I’m trying to learn how to not just be a statue, but a living one, like in Las Vegas. I want to shock people on the street with sudden bursts of life, but that can only be done if I am as unmoving as marble.
The future is in some sense historical, because certain things in the present contain their own resolution.
Atheism is boring. And boring things do not last into the future, because it is human interest that preserves paradigms.
Human interest indicates what satisfies the human soul, which is a thorough foundation in the scope of history. If something is not interesting enough for its consistency to be defended by humans through tradition, it is not consistent with the evolution of humans.
We might equivocate on “evolution”, but the question for all worldviews is the same; how do we become better and leave behind our imperfection?
I am not defending the feeble attempts of Christians to understand the truth of Christianity in its entirety. But it is strongly indicative of Christianity’s truth that they try. What paradigm is so well-preserved by creed and tradition? Even when people try to throw off the shackles of creed and tradition, they lay in the grass waiting for the next generation to pick them up. Because of all the human attempts to preserve truth, Christianity itself is a cohesive and stable whole, whether the individuals recognizes that or not.
What creeds hold atheism together? What doctrines or love or unity or traditions? Who gives it devoted attention like a loving mother? The eyes of Christian saints are full of tears and admiration for God and nature. Saints are in relationship with what they defend and love.
Who is taking care of rowdy atheism? Is anyone interested enough in loving and cultivating it? In looking it in the eyes and giving it a big kiss on the cheek? And does atheism move people to the widows and orphans to kiss them on the cheek?
Who labors together with joy, building the temple to atheism?
Labor has been put on the temple of God every day since Christ. Christianity is not only a stable and well-defended superstructure, it is one that continues to be built up.
Thank you, Lewis, Plantinga, Schaeffer, Stevens, Tolkien, O’Connor, Piper, Wright, Keller, and all the thousands that continue the labor. I wait eagerly for this generation of saints to continue the work.
Where is atheism going?
The world has seen no improvement in the theology and glory of atheism since the time of Lucretius. If anything, the aesthetic value of it has degraded since then. At least he wrote poetry and did not yell about everything.
And perhaps the knowledge of nature has expanded, but this knowledge was neither found by atheism, nor is it used thoroughly by it. Knowledge of nature is the greatest tool modern Christians are using to build the temple of God, but we could use it more.
Since the Reformation, there has been a clear expansion of Christian interest in the knowledge of nature.
And is this not an expansion of human interest, cultivated in Christianity?
Atheism has destruction written in its DNA. After Christians have labored more to continue the evolution of humanity, atheism will come back to enjoy what it did not obtain.
This Week: A discussion between Carson S, David H, and Caleb W. We talk about Billy Collins, Beowulf, T.S. Elliot, J.R.R. Tolkien, Keats “Ode to a Nightingale”, C.S. Lewis, Picasso, Job, sub-creation, darkness and light, the point of creation, the need for honesty, self-publishing, rap, the eschatology of art and in what it finds its purpose in, whether prayer is an art (the Valley of Vision), the importance of having something valuable to say in an age of aspiration and self-promotion, meaning and how a poem conveys it, reading poetry out-loud, reading poetry fast, eye-rhymes, and all various postmodern mouth-dribbles.
Make a list of people.
List the things they love. You know what someone really likes when they mention it in passing, never when you ask them. Now you know what to get them for their birthday – or better, any day.
List their talents.
List the things you love the most about them and what gets on your nerves.
Think of the things you dislike about them as deficiencies on your part. They are heroes in a major stage play and they have fatal flaws. And that is why we are all going to die.
Fast forward fifty years.
Does the way they smack their lips when they eat still bother you? Or do you look back at it fondly, wishing you could get the opportunity back to laugh and not sigh?
I wish I would have put my hand on his shoulder and said, “I love you,” instead of repressing the desire to think, “I hate how you eat.”
I am a fool. And why do I talk like that? Don’t I know you hate that I always say that?
I am throwing you a lifesaver, I think. Are you drowning?
Is it my place to teach and share? My generation has a bad habit of thinking that everything they think about is eternally important, qualified by the falsity that they are the first and only who have ever decided to think and they never edit their long sentences, because everyone thinks being raw and honest is what makes it.
But I am here in my shed, decorated with autumn lights and memories of an 80’s Christmas in Chicago I never had, thinking and exploring.
And you may join me if you want, but right now I am feeling oddly poetic – I warn you.
I am going to assume that you are drowning right now. I am going to assume that you think you were once on a boat going somewhere exotic, but that boat hit an iceberg long ago, and your arms are getting tired.
I am going to assume, also, that you are desperate enough to take any advice that you can get.
The problem with being a human, is that we don’t want any repeated advice. We do not want to hear things we have heard before. And so we realize our hypocrisy. “Help!” “Well, alright, but you’re not going to want to hear what I have to say…”
Perhaps, we can do more to help each other than just throw words out. How about forcing you to action? Persuasion?
If your Mom tells you for the thirteenth time this week, “Put a jacket on, you’ll freeze out there,” we do not consider it advice. She has said it before. What difference does it make?
And by this time in your life, if you are old enough to read anything you wish, you think that you have heard every bit of advice by now.
You have probably heard that Mom is always right. You have probably heard that going slow and steady wins the race. You have also likely heard that it is better to think of others more than yourself. A walk in the park.
Jesus once gave a lot of advice, too. But by this time in your life, He isn’t saying anything new and, therefore, has nothing to offer. You have heard it all before.
Love your neighbor as yourself – this one would have come in handy, had you heard it only once.
Pure and undefiled religion is to feed the widows and orphans – did Jesus say this? You know it, anyways. Who cares?
Be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect – how is this even helpful, or possible?
The best advice, you think, is the new advice. But all those other sentences and words, they hit you once and now they lay empty on the floor. They are hollow honey-balls to you.
And Proverbs. Why read it so much? You know the whore isn’t who she says she is. Spoons do not do their job, until you have raised them to your mouth.
At this point in your journey, there is no nothing anyone can say to get you out of the water.
And you are drowning.
Let’s go back to Mom. It is snowing outside and she is again screeching from the living room, “Put your coat on!”
Her help is unsolicited on both ends, old and stale. You cannot wait to move out.
Have you ever considered that the help in words is not in the words, but in the ability for the words to make you do something?
Mom is not helping you, if you are not moved to action. And you are the fool for not taking her advice.
Mom’s advice is only new – it is only help – if you actually do what she says.
If you are wishing for some new advice, for a shift in how people give you help, maybe you should start with yourself.
Like the long to-do list that is nothing but small, fifteen minute tasks, it is only helpful if you go and do the things.
Have you ever considered pushing the words down to your feet? To move you somewhere?
Maybe Mom will smile at you more when you do finally put the coat on. Maybe you will no longer be cold.
But you have to do what she says.
The only help we can offer are words of persuasion. And they will only persuade if we are humble. Words are hollow without humility.
So here I am, worried about you. I am worried about you, because I have been worried about myself before. I know what it is like to be drowning.
And the difficulty in drowning, is that you are not sure how to get out of the situation. You think it is a good idea to keep flailing your arms, but you wish there was some other way. A raft. A wooden spoon.
I am writing this quickly, so you can quickly hear it and do something about it. Consider this me throwing you a lifesaver.
Do you underestimate the power of prayer?
I am not talking about the power of prayer to heal people. I am not a charismatic preacher. Just because two or three are gathered together to pray for Aunt Maude, does not mean that Aunt Maude will never die. She is in her hundreds, for the sake of heaven!
If the righteous prayers of two or three gathered together were always fulfilled, why are there not companies that offer their services for those with lots of money and little life? We have discovered immortality.
Walt Disney, you should have tried prayer!
That is not how prayer works, because prayer is not a duty or labor. It is a conversation with a Father who loves you. And if there is a mutual love between you and your father, how could talking to him ever be a chore?
If prayer was a chore for me, I would be skeptical of the mutual love between me and God.
Prayer was a chore for me for a long time.
I cannot direct you to the place that changed my mind, that shifted my heart.
But I can tell you that when the Holy Spirit is rattling inside your chest, it feels like your heart might explode and your lungs deflate.
It is scary to welcome Him in and it is even more scary to ask God, “I don’t know about this situation. Can you tell me? I just want to be obedient. Do whatever you would like.”
Trust is frightening, especially when you are trusting someone that can do whatever they would like. Trusting God is dangerous.
He kills people.
He killed Himself.
He rose from the dead.
He can make you rise.
He wants to give you what you want.
Do you want to be a famous writer? Do you want to be a famous homemaker (this is a joke)?
Then ask God for those things.
“Dear Lord, may you bless my labor. May you make me think things that no one else has and may I be able to communicate those thoughts effectively. May you use me to build the kingdom. Destroy my ego. Stir my soul. Disallow conceit from holding a chair in the Grand Council of my Conscience. Torture the pride in my soul, until he is finally willing to admit that he was the one who put the bombs under my chair.”
Prayer is shepherding all of our fleeting desires into a pen, closing the gate, dusting off our hands, walking back home, taking a shower, waking up, and going to see which ones survived the wolves of heaven.
Prayer is showing God the desires of our heart, something any good father wants us to do. “What do you want to do this summer?”
“I don’t know. What do you think? I’ll do anything you think is a good idea. I was thinking of getting a job.”
This is why prayer is confession, gratitude, hope, satisfaction, and investigation of further blessing. The foundation of all these things are desires, whether profane or sacred.
What do you want that you know you should not have? Lay it before God, confess it. It is scary to trust Dad, when he knows everything you don’t want, but likely need. A wooden spoon. Five minutes in the bathroom.
Do you want to be a famous writer? Ask God to bless you.
And in all desires, know that the greatest desire is a desire for the things He wants. A faithful son wants to be like his dad.
The first few conversations may be awkward. You don’t talk to Him a lot, do you?
Wait until you see His eyes light up when you say, “Dad, this is what I really want, but I am willing to do whatever you think I should do.”
Tell God what you want. Ask Him for what you want through prayer. If you show Him all of your desires and tell Him to do what He wishes with them, I can think of no greater weapon against your own destructive self.
If you love to pray without ceasing, if you desire to talk to Him, your sinful and distracting desires will shed like gyro meat from a butcher knife.
And for the first time in your life, you will see how crooked you are. You will look at yourself and see how big your shoes are, how red and bulbous your nose is, and how thick your tear-streaked white makeup is, plastered. You have been wearing a costume and no one told you. Everyone is scared of clowns and now that you see yourself, perhaps you can be scared too.
A clown is where laughing and fear converge.
Take that silly costume off.
At the counter, a beard and beanie was talking to the tattoos behind the espresso machine.
“It’s just like, I feel the stagnation all over. I went to college and studied art, but no one there just like thinks anything. They don’t know anything. The radio stations, they don’t play anything and the artists…”
Tattoos nodded her head, her hand on her hip.
I wanted to chime in and say something like, “I’m not going to blame consumerism, but most people have too much food in their mouths to say anything interesting.”
I am working on my agility of wit, but sadly I came up with my come-back five minutes later as I walked out of the coffeeshop.
It also dawned on me that there is a cure for dissatisfaction with the state of things.
Current problems usually boil down to who did what wrong.
In the case of this authentic art student, the problem is that none of the artists he personally knows possess the two essential characteristics that an artist requires.
An artist must have something to say, so he must consume well.
An artist must say it, so he must cook well.
And here is this guy I have seen a million times walking across the street, in One World Cafe, and behind the shades watching tv, complaining that no one thinks anything.
I am not going to equate negativity with nihilism, but they go well together.
On a more practical level, negativity and laziness go well together.
Criticism, unadulterated like it was from the clone (with a soul, I admit) is a form of blindness.
He has not done enough to see that people do things.
He has not thought enough to see that people think things.
If he strove to fill the place that he believes is empty, there would be no more criticism of a lack.
It is easy to critique the church for being filled with hypocrites.
As soon as you shut off your criticism and feel grace in you, you are dancing with the law surrounded by millions of brothers and sisters.
You cannot even see the possibility of people doing things when you never have. People do things and think things. You do not.
If you have been stuck in the suburbs since age one, and you hate it and you think it is a tool of the Devil in your life, how could you possibly know that some people experience the vigour of living in a small town?
If you are stuck in the suburbs with Christians and Willow Creek and visions that crash and burn, you will think that all Christians feel the same way as you.
A problem in your square mile is a problem of the world.
Go into the world and you will forget what it is like to be of it.
You will remember Mother Theresa and see that Mother Theresa is not one of a kind. Perhaps she was not vocal enough about the Gospel to be hated. There are millions of Mother Theresas and they are so vocal about their motivations, that you have never heard of them. They are in America and Europe and they are called followers of Christ.
There are hypocrites in your square mile, but there are few hypocrites in the world. There is no option to act less than your convictions require. If you don’t feed the poor, it is not that you are unconvicted, but that you are more convicted of something worthless. Are you convicted to sit in the basement of your suburban home and play video games all day? And complain that no one thinks anything?
If you ever find yourself saying, “I just feel like, you know, these people just don’t really do anything.” immediately check your surroundings for any positive creative impact you have made in the world. Are you a stone that can make a dent in play-toah?
If you do not see bent metal or broken walls, you have not done what you think others ought to.
For the art student, he needs to shut his mouth. He doesn’t know what he is talking about. Many people are thinking, many people are doing. And they are enjoying it. And their criticism is reserved for someone who asks, not when tattoos is standing there, making you an americano.
Jodon and Jodonna
In the chaos, there was a strong personality. His name was Jodon.
Jodon did not have any parents nor did he have a place to call home. It was rumored that he came from Canada, but that wasn’t true. He was born from my imagination.
In the beginning, it was just him and I. He was my best friend. Wherever I was, he was there. If I was shovelling snow, there he was helping with his own shovel.
But, Jodon was lonely. So I made Jodonna for him from out of the same void. She was an equally strong personality, because in those days everyone was complementary. Jodon and Jodonna got along fine in the end, but the first few dates were a bit icy.
Jodon was tall and had black hair. He was a dreamer and flew airplanes. Jodonna had short brown hair that she never tied down. She was always encouraging Jodon to do the right and good thing. Whenever they got into a fight, Jodonna was the one who had the sense. They lived happily together, never marrying, but that was okay. No one got married in that time, because there was no such thing as a lack of purity.
I was thrilled they finally got along. Jodon and Jodonna and I were very good friends and we would sometimes walk around outside together. We would laugh and share things. When one was away, the others would talk about them.
One day, however, intruders came in to disrupt their bliss. These cajoling merriers were dirty and began to question their existence. They would constantly ask me where Jodon and Jodonna were.
These intruders came uninvited and never left.
“Is Jodon with you?”
“Are Jodon and Jodonna married?”
“Are they going to come with us?”
And the more that these intruders asked, the more I would answer “no.” In my mind, the best way to protect the purity of Jodon and Jodonna was to insist that they didn’t exist.
The taunts became so unbearable, that it was time for the final measure; Jodon and Jodonna must be killed.
In a tragic airplane accident, both Jodon and Jodonna died. The incident was vague, but their bodies were put to good use.
Jodonna split in two and her two halves were the earth and sky. Jodon became the spirit of the land and inhabited the horizon.
The Dawn of Civilization and Blueberry
In the dawn of that primeval land, a hero rose.
When I was too young to go to a baseball game with the rest of the deities (for those who are older are usually gods), the eldest and oldest promised, “I will bring something back for you.”
I was excited and waited all day. I had butterflies in my stomach imagining what it would be. I hoped it would be one of those whistlebats made out of plastic and full of air.
In the summer, the eldest and oldest were working on their majestic temple. The workers were sitting under the oak tree with their white boxes of glowing food. I was curious and I reasoned to myself that there was nothing else to do while waiting for my gift. So, I went to the workers and asked them, “What are you eating?”
And the workers responded, “We are eating food from our favorite place to eat. Would you like some?” I was delighted and, as I ate the food, an entirely new world was open to me. It tasted like nothing I had ever tasted.
Not a moment later and a car pulled up to the unfinished home, the sun blinding. The deities were back from the baseball game!
As I approached, the eldest and oldest deity gave me a. Bear.
At first, I was disappointed, but this disappointment quickly dissipated into delight. And the thing that delighted me most was that I would have this bear forever.
The bear introduced himself, “I am Blueberry,” he said.
“Please to meet you, Blueberry.”
That very day, Blueberry revealed that he was a warrior. “I throw blueberries and blueberry pies.” Blueberry said.
Using this weapon, Blueberry intruded into the lives of the deity and explored their home, under my blessing. His reign was undisputed, for no one else had weapons like him or a seal of power (for on his chest was the mark of the Cub).
As he grew older, his naps grew in length. I had other things to cultivate. Slowly, he fell into a deep sleep and his existence became shrouded in mystery.
A Darkness Approaches
The fiction writer that doesn’t know what to do with their childhood is such a bore.
Some writers like to go spelunking into their anachronistic psyche and get lost. Except it’s no fun for everyone else, unless the writer has that much of an emotionally feverish personality to make the lonely middle-aged women want to swoon and fall down the cave with them. O, take me Gatsby!
On the other side of the mirror, there is the writer that forgets childhood ever happened. And in his world, the only interesting things are flying metal machines and highly intelligent alien women who don’t wear corsets. They make fantasy with the beginning assumption that what they write is not real – and that it is still entirely desirable. Who says you can’t manufacture frustration?
In their fantasies, children begin with the assumption that what they are making is entirely real. And since their fantasies are part of reality – and fantasy is desirable – both fantasy and reality become more desirable. And so, they make reality more real by fantasy.
Only children and old people know how to tell a story that is equally fantastic and real. And isn’t that what makes their storytelling so charming?
An adult writer that disregards his childhood – that is bored by his childhood – will be entirely charmless.
For example, sex may be part of a child’s story, but it is always a vague far-off notion. No matter how much of a crucial role it plays in their story, it is left undescribed. And that is okay. In my stories, it was occasionally a plotpoint. And the stork was occasionally a character.
The charmless writer doesn’t get this. “An adult must describe it all! Grit! Realness! Like you’re really there!”
Around 1:00am one night, I heard a question whispered behind me, “What are you going to remember about your childhood?”
And for a moment, I couldn’t remember anything at all. I didn’t know what I would remember. And I wasn’t sure how I should package memories. Should I remember details, people, places, incidents? Should my memories be like a newsreel or a novel? Or a collection of short stories? Maybe it would be a manifesto, or a Freudian psychoanalysis of my sinful mind.
I finally decided that I would remember it as the perspective; the perspective of a child and what ideas are meaningful to him. What does a child take seriously?
I don’t know about your child, but mine took his different ideas very seriously. His ideas were always ones for stories in the form of visions.
At times, I thought my stories would change the world. At other times, I wanted to quit and grow up. I didn’t quit, but I did grow up.
For a time, I forgot myself and lost control. As soon as I decided to grow up, the temple to my childhood crumbled. Suddenly, the feelings and memories associated with Christmas and “jammy rides” shattered. My temple was looted, the gold taken off the walls, and the tables turned over. I felt broken inside, because Christmas just “didn’t feel like Christmas anymore”.
I lost it. And there is no one that can defend our innocence for long.
My younger self concluded that the Golden Age of life is all the time before you turn six. After six, life begins to suck and the fun is over.
I partly blamed my older brother Josiah for bringing the Golden Age to an end. I liked to pretend that he bullied me out of my glory like the barbarians bullied Rome. Or exiled me like Ovid. I wonder what is a more romantic fate?
In truth, not only were the Romans to blame for their own fall, they were supposed to fall. There was no scenario where they would not fall. No matter how much your sibylings love you and your parents love you and you grow up in the family, you will lose your innocence. This is the way things are.
Perhaps, this is the root of the fiction writer who doesn’t know what to do with their childhood. And at this moment, I feel less anger and more pity. I despise so much of the fantasies-turned-book out there, but I have trouble despising the minds behind them. A broken mind thinks broken thoughts.
A great tragedy is when someone loses their innocence unnaturally or abruptly.
And even though no one can defend innocence for long, it is the duty of the old to secure it until the time comes.
And if God has some desire to allow or command that they lose their innocence early, so let it be. But you better pray you are not the one responsible. A millstone fits as comfortably around the neck as a ruff.
I will remember my childhood as ideas, because as it stands, my childhood is a distant shadow. To help me remember what I ought to cherish, I will recount the embodiment of those ideas. And maybe I will have a limping zombie by the time the duct tape is gone.
This is a brief recollection of all the stories that my child created. The epic begins with the parents of them all, the famed Jodon and Jodonna. From these very natural parents sprang many children. And these children populated a thousand worlds. From them, a series of metamorphoses occurred that ended in the death of them all. The gods are dead and the temples have fallen.
And in their place, a greater temple is established.
Introducing: a simple concept that helps when conversations get annoying
This is a continuation of Day by Day 62. In it, I mentioned two levels of truth. This is what I meant.
I. The Basic Level of Human Perception
As creatures, the basic level of truth is human perception. Every human is able to see and describe truths that can be perceived.
Humans fell. And although they might be able to occasionally agree on what is true according to perception, perceptions are frequently warped and distorted.
Before the Fall, humans were able to perceive the same truths. This is no longer the case. All that is left is the possibility for two humans to perceive the same truth. This proves that, although the Fall warped human perception, it did not destroy it. If that were true, then no unbeliever would be able to discuss truth on the basic level of human perception. Obviously they are, Socrates and Wittgenstein.
Human perception is unreliable but can still be used, like your old computer.
II. The Higher Level of Divine Perception
The higher level of truth is Divine perception.
Divine perception is what the Triune God perceives.
The Triune God, because of the incarnation of Christ, has both human perception and Divine perception.
This higher level of truth is absolutely perfect in every way. It is the Divinity poked at by unbelievers for so long. Buddha, Plato, Socrates, Hume, Wittgenstein, and many other philosophers acknowledged and desired to have this perspective completely.
And many of them rightly determined that this perspective for the creature is equal to a death of some kind.
Bring on the hemlock!
Yet, this perspective is unattainable without a Christ-driven intellect.
So, the unbeliever is left with a mystery, but not without qualifications.
III. “Yes, but!” Well, yes, but no
The Divine perception is frequently used as a qualification for the human perception. In a conversation, for example, someone may say that something is true (according to human perception), when another will try to qualify it by saying that it is not always true (according to Divine perception).
IV. A Silly and Short Abstract Example
Imagine, in the coffeeshop…
“There are three basic realms of interest; truth, beauty, and goodness.” She says, pleased that she can finally share what she does not understand.
“No, no,” he strokes his beard, “That is not true at all. They are all the same thing.”
“What do you mean?” She giggles.
He throws hot coffee in her face. “You fool!”
V. The Youth and the Beard
Both of these people are discussing true things, but on the two separate levels.
The girl is interested in the basic level of truth, while the beard is interested in the higher level of truth.
Truth, according to human perception, is quantifiable, categorized, and understandable.
Truth, according to Divine perception, is qualifiable for human perception, universal, and mystical.
This is true only for the self-driven intellect and others-driven intellect.
Philosophy without Christ cannot reconcile the two. It cannot recognize that both human perception and Divine perception are true but contrasting.
It cannot recognize paradox, where the truth is not only not found in either extreme, but also not in a balance. It is found in an entirely different perspective – one that goes in both extremes simultaneously. The balance is an estimation of this.
For the unbeliever, human perception negates the existence of Divine perception. He is left with his categories and stale, insurmountable thinking.
For the unbeliever, Divine perception negates the existence of human perception. He is left with mysticism.
In the end, both are left proud and uncertain.
And secretly, the one who denies Divine perception makes room for a nameless mystery anyway…
VI. You May Be in Mystery and Still Do Surgery
For the believer in a conversation, both levels are recognized and used simultaneously. They are able to quantify truth, but not so much as they are able to qualify it. Truth, beauty, and goodness are indeed separate, but they are inseparable in the Triune God.
This is paradox. And it is necessary to see and speak anything rightly.
The believer recognizes the validity of human perception – however distorted – and Divine perception. He understands that he may use categories how he wishes, because we live in a world of human perception. And likewise, he may release his mind of categories, because everything is connected and perfect in God.
He does not feel pressured to use one perception over the other. The believer has the perception of God within his own.
He may separate them for a time in order to study a basic truth, even though the perceptions are never actually separated in his mind.
VII. The Truth That Balance Estimates
Consider the job of a scientist.
He studies truth on the basic level. He is trying to find truth according to what he might perceive.
If he was looking for a basic truth, it would not do him well to solely use the Divine perception.
He may use that perception, however, because it provides insight for both levels.
He may take the human perception solely into the lab, trusting that a Divine perception is possible and influences his human perception.
This is why a believer can be comfortable never bringing up the Divine perception in a conversation, because he trusts the Divine perception of truth. He may freely use his human perception in a conversation with an unbeliever, securely founded in a Divine perception.
The youth and the beard do not need to disagree.
VIII. Freedom in Conversation
If you want, you may call the basic level of truth “particulars” and the higher level of truth “universals”.
A Christ-driven intellect frees a human from having to consistently quantify or qualify things.
He is free to think.
He is free to have a conversation.
Intro: Have no time to listen to this? Then listen to it while you are on your fifteen minute facebook break. This is the weekly podcast. This is Week by Week. Okay. Enough over-written intros.
This week: A round table discussion between Moses Bratrud, Brianna Ruffatto, Caleb W., Matthew P. Michaelis, and Josiah Warner. We talk about social media, bending fingernails, and Neil Postman. Watch out for Caleb contradicting himself and places where Brianna could have highlighted his hypocrisy.