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Jeff Morris
It’s in this context that our main character finds himself, as I believe we all often do, without necessarily realizing it. We’re all confronted with a stark contrast in how we could perceive reality. On the one hand, we could understand existence as a matter of random chance—meaningless—and on such a view we are forced to relinquish things such as rationality, love, morality, gratitude, and even beauty. On the other hand, if we believe that life is objectively meaningful, the whole thing turns on its head. We believe we will find order in nature, that logic is possible, that murder really is wrong, and that beautiful pieces of art or the gentle touch from our beloved are worthy of gratitude. I don’t think many people would question the merit in accepting the second option as the more palpable one, but the problem we encounter is that meaning can only be had if we accept that God is the one who created us—a situation our pride, and secular culture, has something to comment on, even for all of its benefits.
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“Oh no, I don’t live in the basement,” he said with a light chuckle. “I was told to move my office down here. I used to have it on the top floor, and before that I worked outside.”
“Sounds like you’ve be demoted,” I snickered.
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