I am finding myself with a growing distaste for everything I have written to date. I want to deconstruct all of it in my good moments and burn all of it and take up furniture making in my bad moments.
I think I’ve been bitten by a Derridean-bug nothing is solid, all crumbles especially systems, theology and Scripture – no text is left standing – I feel like I’m losing my mind and all that I write mocks me. So my sentences which might have once been marked with a naïve certainty are increasingly filled with “maybes” and “sometimes.”
I find myself longing for a Hegelian synthesis but wondering if such synthesis is illusionary. I feel locked in near perpetual antithesis. And so here I sit trying to write a paper on leadership when I want to deconstruct the Trinity, et al. I sound more like a childish confused seeker than an ordained minister working on a doctorate. I thought I was supposed to come away feeling like I knew something and instead I dread my own writing, and am almost convinced that the best thing I could do might be to never speak of God again.
What the hell is tacit knowledge? And how do I know if what I have thought to be tacit knowledge is in fact such knowledge. Both reason and experience seem like social constructs that that leave me empty, and so the only thing I have is void. And Soren tells me that this void is faith, and is an invitation to relationship but it feels a lot like an invitation to despair.
Intellectually I know that despair is a turn inward to self-solve the void and that faith is beyond self. Damn, if only I could return to the matrix.
Peace, dwight
