King Minos ordered the construction of a labyrinth to house the frightful minotaur. Walls and paths that lead to nowhere serve as a prison to the being. Without the possibility of escape, the minotaur is destined to a life of confusion and darkness.
The theologian also lives in a labyrinth. Doctrines are like walls that cover whatever is on the other side. His premises lead nowhere. Instead of seeking freedom, he is focused in learning the different turns and dead ends of the labyrinth. Like the men in Plato's cave, he cannot fathom a world outside, a world of colors and sounds, a world of freedom from his chains.
Darkness is what the minotaur sees, if we can call that sight. No natural light can enter such a twisted construction. If a single spark would shine, the minotaur still remains blind. The house of theology is as twisted as the minotaur's lair; no light is permitted to shine. Darkness is dogma, and dogma is darkness. If anyone dares bring a lamp, the theologian will shut his eyes and call him a heretic because one doesn't need the light of reason to go in circles.
Oh, my friend, if some day you should venture into the lair of the minotaur, do as Theseus. Take a roll off string with you; take a big one, so that you'll have enough. Unwrap it as you go. That way, you can follow the unwound string to find your way out of the labyrinth. And if you ever venture into the house of theology, take a bag of questions; take a big one, so you wont run out. Those questions form a string of light that leads to freedom.
But if you should forget your bag of questions, or you run out of W's, you will remain forever in the labyrinth built by the words of the theologian. So remember my friend, always carry your bag because questions are sparks; they are lamps; they give light. Let them shine bright. They will help you escape out of dogma's embrace.
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