(November 11, 2013 at 2:25 am)Esquilax Wrote:(November 11, 2013 at 2:02 am)Lemonvariable72 Wrote: No because a prefect being is by definetion perfectly for fulfilled and therefore does not want anything. Wanting would mean he was unfulfilled and thus imperfect
Add to that the simple fact that GC's reasoning makes no sense on its own: god creates a universe for his own pleasure, knowing ahead of time that the beings he creates in it will rebel against him, sin- something he can't abide, and stokes his anger- and will lock him into a war with the devil... what in all of this is pleasurable?
It also leaves him stuck, because now he's in the position where god's actions within the universe he created were also for his own pleasure, including all the wars and deaths, the flood, etc etc.
Well he does a legions of people on earth mindlessly worshiping and praising him, what kind of perfect being would not enjoy that. Maybe he gets off on making people suffer in the lake of fire.
Revelation 21:4-8
He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away." He who was seated on the throne said, "I am making everything new!" Then he said, "Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true." He said to me: "It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To him who is thirsty I will give to drink without cost from the spring of the water of life. He who overcomes will inherit all this, and I will be his God and he will be my son. But the cowardly, the unbelieving, the vile, the murderers, the sexually immoral, those who practice magic arts, the idolaters and all liars--their place will be in the fiery lake of burning sulfur. This is the second death."
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
