Jumping Up And Down In The Hope You’ll Toss Me A Carrot

In my last entry I wrote about Thom Yorke’s well-intentioned religious pluralism that leads to absolutism. Because there are only a handful of you out there and I am talking into the grand exapanse of cyberspacial indifference I thought I would continue that theme and hopefully nail it.

Tolerance is about respecting the opinions of those who disagree with you and protecting their freedom to express themselves. Voltaire defined it well when he wrote, “I may disagree with what you have to say, but I shall defend to the death your right to say it.” In other words, you have to be in disagreement with someone before you can ever tolerate them. I don’t tolerate people who support the greatest soccer team in the world, I positively celebrate with them over the glory that is Richard Dunne. On a charitable day I might tolerate Man U fans but I can do that only because I disagree with them in the first place (and because I am a fount of almost never-ending compassion for those in the midst of evil obsessions).

Ok. Maybe soccer clubs weren’t the best analogy there but you get my point. Too often today, tolerance is understood to be the virtue that refuses to think anything or any opinion “bad” or “wrong” or “evil” or “stupid”. One “tolerates” everything because nothing is wrong except that which rejects this view of tolerance. For that, there is no tolerance. This definition of tolerance can be described in the sentence, “I can find nothing amiss in your view and I tolerate you.” That makes no sense. We are not “tolerant” of known or suspected truth. Genuine tolerance only comes into play when we are confronted with what we deem to be in error.

Here is what I am trying to say: There can be no real tolerance unless there are real convictions.

I found this a few weeks ago. It is a list of 153 objections to Christianity that I have been thinking about trying to respond to with narrative answers. Christians, myself being a massive example of this, slip into representing their relationship with God as a set of theories. Although it may well be beyond my creative and writing abilities, I think it would be cool to try and put together 153 stories to respond to those questions.

C&M moved out of our house yesterday. Me and Neuro are married. We lived with C&M in a strange kind of Christian commune out in the sticks but they have flown off to High Tech City, India for a few months to work on the development of a database of curry recipies or something. I am hoping that when they return, they’ll bring a genuine Indian gift for me, like a little boy who has a trained monkey or one of those tribal craft colour photocopiers that they weave in the mountains in the north. I may have dreamt these items, since secretly I’ve been taking M’s anti-malarial pills and slipping her Lidl vitamin supplements. Not getting malaria is great, but the vivid dreams that come along with that is an unexpected bonus. Malarone ranks high above ketamine and viagra as the best illicit prescribable drug I’ve abused.

With C&M gone, Neuro and I are now free to do as we see fit. What we see as fit is turning the living room into one of those ball pools but adult sized and painting a Twister mat on all the tiles in the kitchen. The final flourish to create our perfect home will be a clever stereo system that plays nothing but Eels and God Speed You Black Emperor! music around every room at various volume levels. That way, we can introduce guests to our house that looks like its a party in a concrete block box and tell them that the stereo system responds to the moods of visitors. They will quickly go crazy when confronted with the tactile joy of a house that offers ball pools and twister and yet simultaneously tells them that their mood is depressed, chaotic and certainly tending towards suicidal. And that would be scientific.

Ah well. Everyone is meeting for lunch in Brady’s. I hope that is someone’s house and not a pub. Malarone and beer might not mix so well.

Your Correspondent, Is going to chow down on those vega-tables

2 Responses to “Jumping Up And Down In The Hope You’ll Toss Me A Carrot”

  1. potato says:

    Wow nice new coat of paint. I like it. I LIKE IT (needs to be said with a boom on the end).

    I should really say something about the actual post. Emmm. Yes.

  2. […] I spend a lot of time thinking about whether it is arrogant or unreasonable or unbelievable of Jesus to claim that he is the one and only way to approach God. I write about it alot on Zoomtard too. But I think I have an answer that might have some real depth in it. I therefore am almost sure that when I go to seminary I will discover that someone else thought of this first. Back in the 800s, John Damascene came up with a term to describe the Trinitarian nature of God called perichoresis. It is a beautiful word, isn’t it? It is the Greek word for dance (peri meaning round and choresis meaning dance) and it describes what the three persons in the One God do all the time. Well, maybe not in a céilí dance sense like you are no doubt imagining but rather, as Barth puts it the dance: asserts that the divine modes of existence condition and permeate one another mutually with such perfection, that one is as invariably in the other two as the other two are in the one. […]