I was reading from Pomerleau’s Western Philosophies of Religion a section on the debates between Copleston and Russell and the second set between Ayer and Copleston. They’re at (to use Pomerleau’s term) “loggerheads” at on many issues simply because they have conflicting, mutually exclusive rational explanations of the world around them. In a sense the debates were useless in that they didn’t provide a clearly victorious position. At the same time, they showed the weaknesses of each position and they illustrated (at least the first one) how dogmatic even a non-believe can be. We non-believers often like to think that dogmatism shows itself most often among “irrational believers” but quite often, the opposite is true.

One of the issues at stake in the Copleston/Russell debate was the argument from contingency. I find it interesting that people are still trying to prove God’s existence, or for that matter, trying to disprove it. I hope I avoid that issue personally, in my musings here. I realize that I can point out all the “logical” problems of Christian theology, but that even a mountainous pile of such problems will not constitute a “dis-proof” of Christianity. And I’m not even sure I want to do such a thing. It’s a matter of faith, and convincing a Christian that Christianity is illogical would be like stealing something from her. It provides some meaning in her life, and as long as her holding these ideas doesn’t result in anyone else’s harm, then what right have I to try to get her to change her mind?

And yet I do this with Chhavi all the time — especially regarding music. It seems kind of a silly thing to do, really. And yet I’m constantly criticizing her music. Well, not constantly, but enough. Or rather, too much.

Oh — an interesting thing happened on the number seventy-seven bus to work Wednesday. Marlon, the new graphics designer with a long, straggly goatee (it must be four inches long, maybe longer), mostly-shaved head, and a long wisp of thin, brittle hair in the back, Rob, and I were talking. We were sitting in the back of the bus, Marlon and I on the driver’s side, Rob directly across us — we were sitting in the seats that face each other and not the front of the bus. At some point the conversation moved to a topic that either excluded Rob or about which Rob had nothing to say. I believe we were talking about rent. Rob began singing to himself, with quite a bit of animation, as if he were performing in fact. It was very disconcerting, and I really felt like I was with a child who, not getting enough attention, was doing something to remedy that. I don’t know whether it was such (i.e., Rob didn’t like the fact that he felt excluded by the conversation) or whether it was simply a bizarre coincidence. It seemed a little too odd to be mere coincidence, though, for Rob’s never done anything like that. Of course how much time have we spent together outside the office? Certainly not enough for such a strange thing to be the basis of the assumptions I’m making. Perhaps he does this all the time. Curious, though, that he picked that moment to do it for the first time around me.

Another thing that lends credence to my interpretation of the situation was the fact that when I asked Rob what he was singing, he looked at me for a moment and said quickly, “Oh, you wouldn’t know it,” and just kept going. As if to exclude me by that act.