In the final estimation, I must confess my realization that I am, alas, a Sophist, a lover not of wisdom but of rhetoric and narrative power. Perhaps I am the last of the Sophists, I don’t know, but if I’m not, I’m certainly the strangest. For in my “right mind”, I’ve come to the implacable conclusion that if there be any Truth at all, anything objective, stable, foundational, unmoving, and unmoveable by which man might enduringly stand, it is not for man to apprehend and know in and by his good reason and sound-mindedness but only the Spirit of God working in and through such a one via the saving power of the cross of Christ, that salvific sacrifice which, once embraced, renders all those held in the trust of His love “completely out of their minds” and by it, “utterly insane”, at least from the perspective of reason and rationality.
Praise be to holy madness then! — and the sanctifying power of irrationality, for in them is the assurance of the resurrection of the body and its purification from the sterility of Reason and the lie of the senses that undergird it.
Devil walks into bar. Orders drink. Asks Philosopher sitting next to him: “And what do you do?”