The poet J. V. Cunningham once observed that “…gloss demands / A gloss annexed / Till busy hands / Blot out the text…” I do not wish to add gloss to the text below. I will only mention that if you find yourself unable to understand (as I did), it may be helpful to heed the advice in the last block of verse and judge it with your body, not your mind. The work is started here below, but because of its very particular formatting, we recommend that you download the PDF version. -PC
Who is wealthier? The man with sufficient financial resources to purchase a $1 million home, but who finds little satisfaction from occupying it, or the man with sufficient financial resources to purchase (just) a $100,000 home, but who finds great satisfaction from occupying it?
How can a God who is a complete being exist inside of space-time? Wouldn't the linear progression of space-time imply an incompleteness? What follows is a lyrical essay by Flint addressing these fundamental questions about God. In the process, he comes to an interesting observation on the nature of reason itself. - PC
I hear a voice from the podium, "When trying to illustrate a concept with multiple images, relate the background and foreground of your thoughts to the background and foreground of the canvas. Think relative position and relative size." The voice interrupts my thoughts. It is my voice; I am teaching. Yet slowly, the voice fades...
What follows is a novella. Despite it’s appearance of fiction, it is Dr. McGlaughlin's earliest expression of value proposition theory.
The aim of this paper is strictly limited to answering the question, 'Is there a reasonable condition wherein Isaac might surrender his life to an alleged divine command?
Undivided yet the same, my heart is more than two. How can I fix the past a whole when all I am I do? I need to make the pieces one but this defeats my will. If grace be grace, I need its taste, or else I flounder still.
It's eventide; the sun is grim. It sets upon the wake. The shadows mourn for fallen Kings, as phantoms of the rake. The cloven hoof hath trampled here and left but tears of dust. The years it claimed were fleeting gifts, a grant to hold in trust.