SaintMorpheus
June 27th 2003, 10:36 PM
The following is the only really substantial conceptual progress I made while an atheist. Let this be a gift to all my atheist brothers and sisters out there who are, honest-to-whoever, fighting for the truth, I mean REALLY fighting for it. I've been where you are. I've lost tons of sleep over existential angst. The following concepts kept me sane until God came to me (which was a long time):
A Vision of Forest Angels Singing Softly
The first thing one notices, besides the lingering incense twinkling of cedar, is the captivating presence of blue. Deep blue light glows from the ascendant stained-glass windows, softly casting radiant shafts of cobalt onto the bare stone floor of the cathedral. But softer than the ambient blue luminosity, yet vibrant and piercing, is the crystal sound of sacred polyphony rising from a somber gathering of angels. Resolutely amplifying, the sublime event of perfect music threatens to shatter the upper glass; or rather, to transcend it altogether. And what hymns they sing, each note distinctly resonant, each phrase carefully spilling forth sonic poetry in brilliantly unpredictable four-part harmony!
I once asked an old priest what they sing and to whom. His reply amazed me: “My son, the answer to your question is itself a question.” Not knowing what to make of this, I continued my investigation: “Father, what do you mean?” To which he countered triumphantly, “Exactly!” I hesitated for a moment, expecting some illuminating commentary; but when he promptly gathered his robes and departed, I was left to ponder this mystery alone.
I later discovered that their hymns are empty of semantic content, but filled with intricate patterns of syllables chosen for their phonetic beauty; this was done in order that the imagination might be liberated from the tradition that fades. And to whom the angels sing remains utterly mysterious, especially to them. Having realized this, I saw that they are bravely driven by questions known to be without answers; nor would they desire anything more than transient speculations, and still less a final solution. For to them humility is a supreme virtue, and what constitutes worship is the creation of worlds in the void paved by unceasing inquiry.
I thought to myself: “How strange these people are! Yet how happy they seem to be; for indeed their eyes burn with delight in the midst of facing invincible questions. Even their cheeks are radiant as they soar on the wings of imagination, shedding vivifying light on the dark paralysis of exponential rationality!”
A Vision of Forest Angels Singing Softly
The first thing one notices, besides the lingering incense twinkling of cedar, is the captivating presence of blue. Deep blue light glows from the ascendant stained-glass windows, softly casting radiant shafts of cobalt onto the bare stone floor of the cathedral. But softer than the ambient blue luminosity, yet vibrant and piercing, is the crystal sound of sacred polyphony rising from a somber gathering of angels. Resolutely amplifying, the sublime event of perfect music threatens to shatter the upper glass; or rather, to transcend it altogether. And what hymns they sing, each note distinctly resonant, each phrase carefully spilling forth sonic poetry in brilliantly unpredictable four-part harmony!
I once asked an old priest what they sing and to whom. His reply amazed me: “My son, the answer to your question is itself a question.” Not knowing what to make of this, I continued my investigation: “Father, what do you mean?” To which he countered triumphantly, “Exactly!” I hesitated for a moment, expecting some illuminating commentary; but when he promptly gathered his robes and departed, I was left to ponder this mystery alone.
I later discovered that their hymns are empty of semantic content, but filled with intricate patterns of syllables chosen for their phonetic beauty; this was done in order that the imagination might be liberated from the tradition that fades. And to whom the angels sing remains utterly mysterious, especially to them. Having realized this, I saw that they are bravely driven by questions known to be without answers; nor would they desire anything more than transient speculations, and still less a final solution. For to them humility is a supreme virtue, and what constitutes worship is the creation of worlds in the void paved by unceasing inquiry.
I thought to myself: “How strange these people are! Yet how happy they seem to be; for indeed their eyes burn with delight in the midst of facing invincible questions. Even their cheeks are radiant as they soar on the wings of imagination, shedding vivifying light on the dark paralysis of exponential rationality!”