They were clear in their intentions while denying their ambitions. It is likely that--removed by "faith" from the rationale of their beliefs--they could not see the implications of their theology. But they were tenacious in defending their position, the proverbial dog with a bone (growling) on the infant demanding with his tears and pounding fists to have the pacifier put back in place...
for the sake of softening their dreams and in zealous pursuit of simplicity, they all want to keep sucking on the sugar tit, the plug as it is sometimes called because the instantaneous quality of that gratification distracts from nuance and contradiction.
The abandonment of logic for feeling is just as instinctual and "human" as the infantile urge to suck, to find the source of milk and solace and drain it til its dry. Similarly, the other tenets of the creed conspire to continue this willful limiting of God: a preference for mythology over history, a denial of geology and genetics, a quiet terror of quantum physics and a grotesque attachment to the (welcome) limitations of a 6000 year calendar.
One can imagine that God is wholely indifferent to the strictures of the box. That which contains ideas of Him/Her does not actually define Her/Him (except of course for the helots and zealots who ascribe to this particular delusion of the divine). And one truly committed to the grandeur, the great contradictions and the grace discovered in their resolution--wants more than anything to allow the divine to be full, and large, and infinite. This observer, far from being arrogant or even certain, sits in the shadow of God with appropriate awe and patience. Overwhelmed by Her/His expanse and totality, this supplicant's every breath is a humble prayer.
On the other hand, those who prefer to worship at the box appear compelled (by their discomfort with things they can not easily understand, digest or integrate?) to re-create a God in their own claustrophobic self-image. They make no room for metaphor. They make no effort for subtlety. Their conception of God is designed to be small enough to feed from their own empty breasts, to sit at their own supper table. He is arrogant enough to scrap with their enemies in petty demonstrations of machismo, to confirm their prejudices while approving of their materialism.
And it could be argued that this materialism itself is the source of their ardent simplification of things. Muddled by the mysteries of the spirit, these believers hunger for something more concrete: They want a planet shaped over a weekend as if God were doing yard work. They want a race that's identity is not made slippery by even the most obvious mechanism of change. They want a book that subdues possibility, narrows their ability to think. They crave a small god--an infant in the manger--cute enough to love but small enough to drown in the bathtub, should it become necessary.
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