For Trey: "Myth: Atheists Believe In Nothing"

In another thread Trey remarks:

If you will begin a thread on naturalism leading to nihilism, I will post my comments on that subject, which tie in to this inconsistancy of thinking that I just mentioned.

.

Here's his chance--though of course you're all welcome to join in. Below the fold I've reproduced Austin Cline's post on this topic, in order to give Trey something to argue against.

This myth is based upon a misunderstanding of what atheism is. Many theists think that atheists don't believe in anything at all; evidently, we have no goals, no ideals, and no beliefs whatsoever. Such theists cannot understand how it could be otherwise because their beliefs in and about their god often constitute the most important parts of their lives and are especially important when it comes to their goals, ideals, morality, etc. Without their god, then, those things can't exist.

Of course, it is nonsensical to think that a person can have no beliefs whatsoever. The human brain forms beliefs without our willing or intending it — it just happens and is a part of our nature.
It is also nonsensical to think that a person cannot "believe in" anything, if by belief we mean "placing trust or confidence in another." That, too, is simply a part of our human nature and occurs without our intending it.

Atheists do believe things and they do believe in things. Where atheists differ from theists is that the atheists do not believe in any gods. Granted, for theists their god might be so important and vital that not believing in it may seem just like not believing in anything at all — but really, they aren't exactly the same. Even if a theist cannot comprehend the idea of having values, meaning, or purpose in the absence of their god(s), atheists are able to manage it quite readily.

The only thing atheists have in common is their lack of belief in gods. There are no positive beliefs or attitudes which can be assumed on the part of all atheists. Although some atheists certainly are nihilists, that isn't at all true of atheists — in fact, I'd say that it isn't true of the vast majority of theists. Nihilists are a relatively small philosophical and political position.

If you want to know what an atheist believes or believes in, you have to ask — and ask about specifics. It doesn't work to simply ask "what do you believe in"? That question is much too broad. A person could potentially go on for days explaining all of the things they believe, and why would they bother to do that for you? If you want information, you need to be specific. If you want to know what an atheist believes about morality, ask that. If you want to know what an atheist believes about the origins of the universe, ask that. Atheists aren't mind readers, and you shouldn't expect them to be.

UPDATE: See also Rank Atheism's "Atheism Myths: If there is no God, you are guaranteed of being nothing"

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Degayifying the Moskva

Orthodox Christian Russians were working tirelessly last Sunday to cleanse the Moskva River's sparkling waters of TEH GAY, after a dirty gay cruise vessel full of dirty gays trailed megalitres of santorum in its wake the previous evening.

Participants hired a ship and decorated it with church banners, icons, Russian imperial flags and their motto, "We are Russian, God is with us."

"Our great Orthodox capital is in spiritual vacuum and experiences ideological aggression from the West. So our aim was to demonstrate that the Russian people's spiritual and moral ideals are alive and will be so forever," Yury Ageschev, coordinator of the Union of Orthodox Brotherhoods, told Interfax.

He said one of the action's aims was "to purge the Moskva River after a large group of gays, who hired a similar ship to have a party going the same route last night."

On a more serious note, this follows a plan by Christians to conduct anti-homosexual pogroms in a Moscow park popular as a meeting place for gays and lesbians.

YouTube: Christians and homophobia

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The argument from personality

I've been involved in a lengthy debate with a Christian at Reed Braden's blog. Asked why Christianity is to be preferred over other religions, my interlocutor responded thus:

[1]As far as other religions go, the first step I took was evaluating the idea of a personal or impersonal god. [2]Reality and experience has shown that people certainly possess personality and individuality. [3]This being the case, I had to ask myself the question of whether I thought it made sense that personality would flow from an impersonal god. [4]For me it does not, and Schaeffer, C.S. Lewis, and countless others have observed the same thing. [5]It is for this reason that I have chosen to reject so many of the Eastern religions (even though Judaism/Christianity really isn’t Western). [Sentences numbered by yours truly]

I don't think my interlocutor has offered very good reasons for rejecting other religions, if he must choose religion at all. The weakest arguments he proposes are of course the appeals to authority and popularity in sentence 4, followed closely by the argument from incredulity presented in sentences 3-4 ("x doesn't make sense to me; ergo, x is wrong").

But what of his main reason: that given that people possess personality and individuality, an impersonal god doesn't make sense? Since my friend doesn't explain why personality and individuality in human beings makes the idea of an impersonal god nonsensical (this is simply asserted), I can only infer that he is assuming the truth of Genesis 1:27--"So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him." (Is God Yoda?)

If this is the case, then my interlocutor is attempting to prove the superiority of Christianity using a Christian axiom (i.e. the aforementioned Bible verse)--an axiom which one would have to be a Christian in the first place in order to accept. Circular reasoning.

(OK: Jews would accept this axiom too, but I don't see how that helps my interlocutor's position. In fact, it weakens it.)



Sam Harris on his book The End of Faith.

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Short story: the Marquis de Sade's "Dialogue Between a Priest and a Dying Man"

This is actually a dialogue rather than a story. A priest is giving the last rites to a dying man who repents that he has not taken full advantage of the fact that he was "created by Nature with the keenest appetites and the strongest of passions and was put on this earth with the sole purpose of placating both by surrendering to them." The dying man then proceeds to state his case for atheism.

Despite the fact that the dying man seems not to have heard of the is-ought fallacy, he makes some good arguments that resonate well with current debates. His opponent is probably an unfair strawman, but I have heard a Christian apologist in a recent debate with Christopher Hitchens advance at least one of the priest's counter-arguments--the notion that the world has been created "broken" as an answer to the problem of evil.

The dialogue is far too long to reproduce here, so I'll just provide a link to the PDF:

"Dialogue Between a Priest and a Dying Man"

Of course, more than just atheists have been influenced by de Sade's ideas:

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The Wonderful World of Magical Thinking XXI

The week in fundie:

1. The Religious Right post-Falwell. (Americans United for the Separation of Church and State)
2. A library in South Carolina has been forced to cancel its summer programs after receiving threats and accusations that it was "promoting witchcraft." (Via Pharyngula)
   
3. Lesbians kicked off a bus for for kissing. (Via Morons.org)
4. Queensland National MP Barnaby Joyce: "If Christian people do not put their view forward that Australia is a Christian state, then within a short period of time, [. . .] another religion might fill the vacuum." (Via Unbelief.org)
5. An Italian village has opened a criminal investigation into the film version of The Da Vinci Code, in response to complaints by local clergy. (Dispatches from the Culture Wars)
   
6. The Exclusive Brethren cult, which bans sex ed and ICT in its own schools, is planning to sponsor one of the UK's publicly-funded "faith schools." (Bartholomew's Notes on Religion)
7. Study: social dysfunction higher in America's Jesus states. (Dispatches from the Culture Wars)
   

Bill Maher on Jesus Camp

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Chems

Some Chemical Brothers videos for your viewing and listening pleasure.

Elektrobank (1997)



Loops of Fury (1996)


Setting Sun (1996)


Hey Boy Hey Girl (1999)


Out of Control (1999)


Star Guitar (2002)


Get Yourself High (2003)


Galvanize (2005)


Do It Again (2007)

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On the pod

This is the kind of TV show that would encourage me to watch Channel 31. The Atheist Experience is a public access cable TV show operated by the Atheist Community of Austin, and hosted by an ex-fundie. (I mention that last part because some theists like to parade their ex-atheism as if it lends extra credibility to their arguments--cough Alister McGrath cough Kirk Cameron cough--and I wanted to show that the traffic isn't all one way.) Given public-access restrictions, the somewhat-lefty presenters keep away from partisan politics and keep the programme focused on atheism, science (including pseudoscience) and counter-apologetics. Well worth the listen. (It's available in GoogleVideo and MP3 formats.)

(BTW: Unfortunately it's not available on Channel 31, where we have to put up with crap like Margaret Court: a Life of Victory.

Also: Ninglun, if he's watching, will be interested in tonight's Late Night Live, featuring two biographers of Kevin Rudd.

Meanwhile, for your entertainment, "Hand of the Almighty!"

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Today's text

Source: Saint Gasoline

In my view, the only culture war that really matters was won during the Enlightenment, when we realised that we didn't need a theory of God to be ethical or to explain the Universe. Today's reactionary culture-warriors are fighting a rearguard action in a battle that was lost long ago.

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On Pakistan's ability to get its priorities in order

This is Waziristan, a northern province of Pakistan. It was from here that the Taliban swept into Afghanistan, establishing in the late 90s one of the most savage and despotic faith-based regimes ever known. To this day it remains a Taliban and Al-Qaeda stronghold.


This is Salman Rushdie, an Anglo-Indian novelist who in 1989 was sentenced to death in absentia by the Iranian Ayatollah Khomeini, in response to the publication of The Satanic Verses which contained references to Mohammed which many Muslims deemed to be blasphemous. As a result, Rushdie went into hiding for nine years--while several others associated with the novel's publication were either murdered, assaulted or threatened--and to this day Iran's religious authorities refuse to lift the fatwa that was placed on him.

Now, if you were a Muslim and a member of the Pakistani government, which of the two would you consider a bigger enemy of Islam and more worthy of your condemnation: (a) a bunch of bloodthirsty religious fanatics who like to slaughter innocent people in the name of their faith, or (b) a British novelist who once wrote a book containing an irreverent depiction of Mohammed? Which of the two does more damage to the image of Islam?

Yeah. Me too.

But the Pakistani government doesn't see it that way, given its outrage over Britain's decision to award Rushdie a knighthood. Condemning the British government for its "insensitivity," Pakistan is demanding that the knighthood be revoked. According to the Foreign Ministry, "this decision can unnecessarily incite religious feelings [. . .] Rushdie has been a controversial figure who is known less for his contribution to literature and more for hurting the feelings of Muslims." (Cue the world's smallest violin.) The Minister for Religious Affairs warns that "such an award can provoke suicide attacks." Got that? If more innocent people are murdered because certain faith-heads have so completely lost the will to behave rationally, blame Rushdie.

Seriously, guys: if you don't like Rushdie, don't read his books. And don't take his knighthood personally--the notion that it's intended to be an insult to Muslims is preposterous. In the meantime, you have a very big backyard to clean up, and perhaps you should focus your energies on that.

More at Ninglun's.

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The Photoshop Creationism Challenge

B3ta.com posed the following challenge to its contributors:

Creationists believe that everything in the universe was created absolutely by a deity, and that evolution is hocus pocus, despite all the evidence to the contrary. Please portray this conflict using God's own image-manipulation software.

Here are some of the gems they came up with:













Via the comments at Pharyngula.

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The Wonderful World of Magical Thinking XX

The week in fundie:

1. The Hawke-Clarke hijack. Alex Hawke, former leader of the Young Liberals (and, thanks to him, now dominated by its bovver-boy wing) and acolyte of ultraconservative NSW Liberal State MP David Clarke, has never made secret his long-term goal of shifting the Liberal Party to the Christian right; as far as he's concerned, party members who don't share his extremist ideology "can choose the Greens, Labor or the Democrats." Now Hawke, who opposes abortion and wants the age of consent raised for homosexuals--he considers it "a child protection issue to stop gay men preying on the young"--could well have achieved a major milestone on his agenda by securing preselection in Mitchell, one of the safest seats in the country, amid accusations by moderate Liberals of branch-stacking. (For more on what may one day come to be known as the Hawke-Clarke hijack of the Liberal Party, see this Monthly article and this Four Corners transcript.) (SMH)
   
2. Speaking of faith-based haters, Iran's government has condemned the awarding of a knighthood to author Salman Rushdie, a citizen of the UK which is not AFAIK an Islamic theocracy. According to a spokesman for the Iranian Foreign Ministry, since Rushdie is an "apostate" and "one of the most hated figures in Islamic society," the knighthood constitutes an attack on Islam. What a maroon! (ABC News Online)
   
3. In Jerusalem, an Orthodox Jewish court has placed a curse on participants in Jerusalem's gay pride parade. (Dispatches from the Culture Wars)
4. In Australia, the fundies branch stack; in the US, they state-stack. (Via Dispatches from the Culture Wars)
5. The Pentagon has admitted it once tried to build a "Gay Bomb." You know, a bomb that would infect the enemy with TEH GAY and make them want to stop fighting and start having teh gay anal sex. Yes, I'm serious. (Dispatches from the Culture Wars)
6. Seventh Day Adventist splitters World's Last Chance believe they have identified the "First Beast of Revelation" (and I could almost believe it after the Mitchell preselection ;)):
   
   
   

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Short story: "Incident in the life of Mr. George Crookhill" by Thomas Hardy

Source: University of Aberdeen

This is actually an extract from a larger story, "A Few Crusted Characters," first published in an anthology by the name of Life's Little Ironies. (And when you read it, you'll see why.)

Incident in the life of Mr. George Crookhill

‘One day,’ the registrar continued, ‘Georgy was ambling out of Melchester on a miserable screw, the fair being just over, when he saw in front of him a fine-looking young farmer riding out of the town in the same direction. He was mounted on a good strong handsome animal, worth fifty guineas if worth a crown. When they were going up Bissett Hill, Georgy made it his business to overtake the young farmer. They passed the time o’ day to one another; Georgy spoke of the state of the roads, and jogged alongside the well-mounted stranger in very friendly conversation. The farmer had not been inclined to say much to Georgy at first, but by degrees he grew quite affable too—as friendly as Georgy was toward him. He told Crookhill that he had been doing business at Melchester fair, and was going on as far as Shottsford–Forum that night, so as to reach Casterbridge market the next day. When they came to Woodyates Inn they stopped to bait their horses, and agreed to drink together; with this they got more friendly than ever, and on they went again. Before they had nearly reached Shottsford it came on to rain, and as they were now passing through the village of Trantridge, and it was quite dark, Georgy persuaded the young farmer to go no further that night; the rain would most likely give them a chill. For his part he had heard that the little inn here was comfortable, and he meant to stay. At last the young farmer agreed to put up there also; and they dismounted, and entered, and had a good supper together, and talked over their affairs like men who had known and proved each other a long time. When it was the hour for retiring they went upstairs to a double-bedded room which Georgy Crookhill had asked the landlord to let them share, so sociable were they.

‘Before they fell asleep they talked across the room about one thing and another, running from this to that till the conversation turned upon disguises, and changing clothes for particular ends. The farmer told Georgy that he had often heard tales of people doing it; but Crookhill professed to be very ignorant of all such tricks; and soon the young farmer sank into slumber.

‘Early in the morning, while the tall young farmer was still asleep (I tell the story as ’twas told me), honest Georgy crept out of his bed by stealth, and dressed himself in the farmer’s clothes, in the pockets of the said clothes being the farmer’s money. Now though Georgy particularly wanted the farmer’s nice clothes and nice horse, owing to a little transaction at the fair which made it desirable that he should not be too easily recognized, his desires had their bounds: he did not wish to take his young friend’s money, at any rate more of it than was necessary for paying his bill. This he abstracted, and leaving the farmer’s purse containing the rest on the bedroom table, went downstairs. The inn folks had not particularly noticed the faces of their customers, and the one or two who were up at this hour had no thought but that Georgy was the farmer; so when he had paid the bill very liberally, and said he must be off, no objection was made to his getting the farmer’s horse saddled for himself; and he rode away upon it as if it were his own.

‘About half an hour after the young farmer awoke, and looking across the room saw that his friend Georgy had gone away in clothes which didn’t belong to him, and had kindly left for himself the seedy ones worn by Georgy. At this he sat up in a deep thought for some time, instead of hastening to give an alarm. “The money, the money is gone,” he said to himself, “and that’s bad. But so are the clothes.”

‘He then looked upon the table and saw that the money, or most of it, had been left behind.

‘“Ha, ha, ha!” he cried, and began to dance about the room. “Ha, ha, ha!” he said again, and made beautiful smiles to himself in the shaving glass and in the brass candlestick; and then swung about his arms for all the world as if he were going through the sword exercise.

‘When he had dressed himself in Georgy’s clothes and gone downstairs, he did not seem to mind at all that they took him for the other; and even when he saw that he had been left a bad horse for a good one, he was not inclined to cry out. They told him his friend had paid the bill, at which he seemed much pleased, and without waiting for breakfast he mounted Georgy’s horse and rode away likewise, choosing the nearest by-lane in preference to the high-road, without knowing that Georgy had chosen that by-lane also.

‘He had not trotted more than two miles in the personal character of Georgy Crookhill when, suddenly rounding a bend that the lane made thereabout, he came upon a man struggling in the hands of two village constables. It was his friend Georgy, the borrower of his clothes and horse. But so far was the young farmer from showing any alacrity in rushing forward to claim his property that he would have turned the poor beast he rode into the wood adjoining, if he had not been already perceived.

‘“Help, help, help!” cried the constables. “Assistance in the name of the Crown!”

‘The young farmer could do nothing but ride forward. “What’s the matter?” he inquired, as coolly as he could.

‘“A deserter—a deserter!” said they. “One who’s to be tried by court-martial and shot without parley. He deserted from the Dragoons at Cheltenham some days ago, and was tracked; but the search-party can’t find him anywhere, and we told ’em if we met him we’d hand him on to ’em forthwith. The day after he left the barracks the rascal met a respectable farmer and made him drunk at an inn, and told him what a fine soldier he would make, and coaxed him to change clothes, to see how well a military uniform would become him. This the simple farmer did; when our deserter said that for a joke he would leave the room and go to the landlady, to see if she would know him in that dress. He never came back, and Farmer Jollice found himself in soldier’s clothes, the money in his pockets gone, and, when he got to the stable, his horse gone too.”

‘“A scoundrel!” says the young man in Georgy’s clothes. “And is this the wretched caitiff?” (pointing to Georgy).

‘“No, no!” cries Georgy, as innocent as a babe of this matter of the soldier’s desertion. “He’s the man! He was wearing Farmer Jollice’s suit o’ clothes, and he slept in the same room wi’ me, and brought up the subject of changing clothes, which put it into my head to dress myself in his suit before he was awake. He’s got on mine!”

‘“D’ye hear the villain?” groans the tall young man to the constables. “Trying to get out of his crime by charging the first innocent man with it that he sees! No, master soldier—that won’t do!”

‘“No, no! That won’t do!” the constables chimed in. “To have the impudence to say such as that, when we caught him in the act almost! But, thank God, we’ve got the handcuffs on him at last.”

‘“We have, thank God,” said the tall young man. “Well, I must move on. Good luck to ye with your prisoner!” And off he went, as fast as his poor jade would carry him.

‘The constables then, with Georgy handcuffed between ’em, and leading the horse, marched off in the other direction, toward the village where they had been accosted by the escort of soldiers sent to bring the deserter back, Georgy groaning: “I shall be shot, I shall be shot!” They had not gone more than a mile before they met them.

‘“Hoi, there!” says the head constable.

‘“Hoi, yerself!” says the corporal in charge.

‘“We’ve got your man,” says the constable.

‘“Where?” says the corporal.

‘“Here, between us,” said the constable. “Only you don’t recognize him out o’ uniform.”

‘The corporal looked at Georgy hard enough; then shook his head and said he was not the absconder.

‘“But the absconder changed clothes with Farmer Jollice, and took his horse; and this man has ’em, d’ye see!”

‘”’Tis not our man,” said the soldiers. “He’s a tall young fellow with a mole on his right cheek, and a military bearing, which this man decidedly has not.”

‘“I told the two officers of justice that ’twas the other!” pleaded Georgy. “But they wouldn’t believe me.”

‘And so it became clear that the missing dragoon was the tall young farmer, and not Georgy Crookhill—a fact which Farmer Jollice himself corroborated when he arrived on the scene. As Georgy had only robbed the robber, his sentence was comparatively light. The deserter from the Dragoons was never traced: his double shift of clothing having been of the greatest advantage to him in getting off; though he left Georgy’s horse behind him a few miles ahead, having found the poor creature more hindrance than aid.’

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Join the Atheist Blogroll

The atheist blogosphere is growing apace, much faster at any rate than Alister McGrath can publish anti-Dawkins tomes. Mojoey has amassed hundreds of such blogs on his Atheist Blogroll, and if you would like to join, click here.
Just to make it worth your while:

The Atheist Tapes parts 1 and 2: Daniel Dennett




UPDATE: Here's a great atheist blog I just discovered today.

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Bush nominates degayification advocate as US Surgeon-General

Australia doesn't really have an equivalent of the US Surgeon-General (technically, the closest equivalent is the Chief Medical Officer). He or she is the unofficial public face of health in the US, and is generally seen as a respected and authoritative advocate of public health education and healthy living. Naturally, the Christian Right would regard getting one of their own into this position as a major coup in its quest to Talibanise America.

As the disastrous experiment with abstinence-only sex education has demonstrated (an experiment destined to continue thanks to a decision by lily-livered Democrats to increase funding for such programmes), the fundagelicals don't do health science well. But what do they care?--they're more interested in saving souls than lives, and they're not about to let reality get in the way of their Bronze Age agenda.

Regarding the office of Surgeon-General, the faith-heads have had previous success: in 1994 they forced the resignation of Jocelyn Elders after she dared to suggest the promotion of so benign an activity as masturbation as an alternative to riskier sexual practices--despite the fact that masturbation carries no harmful side effects--expect possibly chafing. (Indeed, frequent ejaculation has been found to reduce the risk of prostate cancer in men, but I guess Jesus wants you to get prostate cancer.)

But the big pay-off for the Religious Right would be to manoeuvre a kool-aid-sipping fundagelical into the position of Surgeon-General itself. And now they have a sniff of victory, thanks to the Bush administration's nomination to the post of James Holsinger, a Paul Cameron-class homophobe:

James Holsinger, President George W. Bush's nominee for Surgeon General, has a dark view of homosexuals. In a 1991 paper, Holsinger describes homosexual sex in sickeningly lurid language. "Fist fornication," "sphincter injuries," "lacerations," "perforations" and "deaths seen in connection with anal eroticism," are some of the terms Holsinger concocted to describe acts with which he suggests at least medical familiarity (a case of participant observation, perhaps?). At the same paper, Holsinger puzzlingly issues no warnings about the dangers of heterosexual sex in his paper. To him, only "anal eroticism" is a health peril.

As the Alternet article points out, what is most worrying about this nomination is not so much Holsinger's bigotry as his support for "ex-gay therapy." In other words, the individual who the Bush administration believes is best qualified to give the American public advice on healthy living is someone who believes homosexuality is both a "lifestyle choice" and a "disease" that can be "cured." Moreover, the nomination is a tacit endorsement of a therapy discredited by the American Medical Association, the American Psychological Association and other mainstream medical organizations. The American Psychiatric Association maintains that there is "no scientific evidence that reparative or conversion therapy is effective in changing a person's sexual orientation;" there is evidence, however, that ex-gay therapy can have harmful effects, including "depression, anxiety, and self-destructive behavior, since therapist alignment with societal prejudices against homosexuality may reinforce self-hatred already experienced by a patient."

Hopefully, US senators will give this snake-oil salesman the short shrift he deserves.

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Spot the Logical Fallacy

Source: In the Room

It's time for a round of "Spot the Logical Fallacy." Today's passage comes from the latest article by Dinesh D'Souza, in which he purports to smackdown Richard Dawkins and Sam Harris on the question "If God created the Universe, who created God?"--thereby proving that there is still room in his mouth to accommodate his other foot. Here's the passage:

Given that nothing in the universe is the cause of its own existence, the universe cannot be explained by an infinite regress of causation. If there were infinite regress then the series would not have gotten started in the first place. The universe is here, just like the fellow who has gotten his driver’s license. And just as there had to be a first number at the DMV that got the sequence going, so too there must be a first cause for the universe that accounts for the chain of causation that we see everywhere in the world. We may not be able to say much about what this first cause is like, but we have established the need for it and the existence of it. Without a first cause, none of its effects—including the world, including us—would be here.

The real force of Aquinas’ argument is not that every series must have a temporal beginning but that every series, in order to have being or existence, must depend on something outside the series. It is no rebuttal to say that since everything must have a cause, therefore God Himself requires a cause. Aquinas’ argument does not use the premise that everything needs a cause. Everything that exists in the universe needs a cause. God is not part of the series and therefore the rules of the series, including the rules of causation, do not apply to Him.

And remember, folks:

Aquinas can rest easy. It seems evident that Dawkins and Harris have not answered the theistic argument. Yet amusingly they think they have. What’s up with these self-styled paragons of reason? Dawkins and Harris are experts in laboratory science. One is a zoologist, the other a student of neuroscience. Here is the classic case of people who are experts in one field trying to issue authoritative pronouncements in another. When this happens the results are not hard to predict.

Do your worst.

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Things I wish I'd said to the Jehovah's Witness last Saturday morning

Image via BoingBoing

No--nothing nasty. But while the Telstra salespersons are bound to receive short shrift when they come rapping, gently rapping at my front door of a Saturday morning, I've been less reluctant of late to engage the visiting Jehovah's Witness(es) in conversation. I don't know why--perhaps I feel a little emboldened now that we atheists finally have our groove back.

Just this past Saturday I was greeted by an amiable old gentleman (they're always old--why is that?) whose opening gambit involved a reflection of the troubled state of the world--as compared to the halcyon days of yore--and how all the crime, wars, disasters and suffering surely signal the end times. (Quick note--Jehovah's Witnesses never, ever tell you which religious organisation they're representing.) I said that as bad as things might seem, I didn't think they were significantly worse today than in previous eras--the perception that they are so is largely media driven--in response to which he insisted that, statistically speaking, they were bad, even taking into account the increase in population. Not having the laptop on me at the time to be able to investigate his claims, I left the matter alone. (What I should have said is that while bygone days might have been kind to nostalgic middle-class white Westerners, they were certainly far from kind to many others--and I wonder what an African-American who lived in the segregation era in the Deep South might have made of my visitor's "we're all rooned" thesis.)

Anyway, the subject of discussion then moved on to Bible prophecy. Did you know that the Book of Daniel accurately predicted World War One? I could check my Bible, he suggested (despite my telling him that I'm an atheist, he still assumed I'd have a Bible in my possession. I mean--who wouldn't?), to verify. But apparently Daniel says that WWI would happen a certain span of years calculated forward from the destruction of Jerusalem in 607 BCE--a date which the man at the door assured me had been agreed upon by archaeologists and historians. And if the Bible could accurately predict events like WWI, my interlocutor reasoned, might it not be similarly relied upon to predict other events, like, say, the end of the world?

Now here's where a little background reading on the beliefs of the Jehovah's Witnesses would have assisted me. You see, according to Religious Tolerance.org, Jehovah's Witnesses--including, I assume, the man knocking on my door on Saturday morning--believe that Armageddon will involve God exterminating 99% of humanity, sparing only "active members in good standing of the Jehovah's Witnesses." Furthermore, until quite recently the church believed it could pinpoint the year in which the end of the world as we know it (as the REM song goes) would transpire. And it turns out that the original date--the date calculated by founder Charles Taze Russell--was 1914, a.k.a. the start of World War One. How did he do it? Here's how:

A key component to the calculation was derived from the book of Daniel, Chapter 4. The book refers to "seven times". He interpreted each "time" as equal to 360 days, giving a total of 2,520 days. He further interpreted this as representing exactly 2,520 years, measured from the starting date of 607 BCE. This resulted in the year 1914-OCT being the target date for the Millennium. 20 Russell's belief became a key teaching of the Jehovah's Witnesses (Watchtower Bible and Tract Society). Since late in the 19th century, they had taught that the "battle of the Great Day of God Almighty" (Armageddon) would happen in that year.

Granted, WWI was a devastating series of conflicts, but the world kicked on (as it would do through the far more devastating WWII). There was a lot of egg on a lot of faces. Since then, 1918, 1925, 1932, 1941, 1966, 1975 and 1994 have all been candidates for this maddeningly elusive Armageddon.

So my friend had not been entirely forthcoming. According to Russell's rather ad hoc method of calculation, Daniel had not predicted WWI, he had predicted the end of the world as we know it--and he was wrong! "Out of curiosity," I asked cheekily, "when is the end of the world?" "Ah, well," he muttered, flicking through his Bible to Matthew 24:35-36, which says "Heaven and earth shall pass away, but my words shall not pass away. But of that day and hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels of heaven, but my Father only." How convenient. Since 1996, official church policy has been to leave the date unspecified. The man at the door offered to come back and discuss it further, but I politely declined.

I wish I'd asked him one thing, though. Supposing that the Bible accurately predicted WWI, does this mean that Gavrilo Princip ought not to have been held morally culpable for the murder of the Archduke of Austria-Hungary, given that his actions were part of a divine plan? (That is, if Princip had been aware of the prophecy identified by the Jehovah's Witnesses, would he have been able, according to their theology, to have chosen not to shoot the Archduke, and so render the prophecy untrue?) Should the Sept. 11 hijackers similarly be held blameless, since their actions presumably help to fulfil the end-time prophecy? Were these agents free to choose otherwise, or weren't they? Indeed, what is the point of doing anything to redress the problems of the world if these problems are but the signs that the end of the world is nigh?

In short, it's a pretty bleak (not to mention ludicrous) theology. Colour me unimpressed (and unconverted ;)).

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The Wonderful World of Magical Thinking XIX

Image via Pharyngula

The week in fundie . . .

1. Moderate Liberals attempt to block Religious Right putsch in Sydney seat of Mitchell. (Brisbane Times)
2. A 16-year-old female gang-rape victim "may well have been glad of the attention," according to one of her attacker's defence lawyer. The lawyer suggested that the victim was asking for it because of her "provocative" clothing and the fact that she was overweight at the time of the assault. Incidentally, this happened in London, not Saudi Arabia. (Via Magic Bellybutton.)
3. Israeli Knesset moves to ban gay pride parades. (Via Dispatches From the Culture Wars)
4. Theocracy comes to West Papua. (Via Bartholomew's Notes on Religion)
5. "The Talibanization of Iraq"--the deterioration of women's rights in the post-Saddam era. (Assyrian International News Agency)
6. Stoning defended in Iran by Judiciary Chief Advisor (National Council of Resistance of Iran)
7. Crowds stone gay rights marchers in Bucharest. (SMH)
   

Just to make it worth your while, here's Carl Sagan's "Pale Blue Dot."

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Short story: Algernon Blackwood, "Accessory Before the Fact"

I remember reading this as a young boy. It's quite good, if you can get past the Germanophobia.

At the moorland cross-roads Martin stood examining the sign-post for several minutes in some bewilderment. The names on the four arms were not what he expected, distances were not given, and his map, he concluded with impatience, must be hopelessly out of date. Spreading it against the post, he stooped to study it more closely. The wind blew the corners flapping against his face.

The small print was almost indecipherable in the fading light. It appeared, however--as well as he could make out--that two miles back he must have taken the wrong turning.

He remembered that turning. The path had looked inviting; he had hesitated a moment, then followed it, caught by the usual lure of walkers that it "might prove a short cut." The short-cut snare is old as human nature. For some minutes he studied the sign-post and the map alternately.

Dusk was falling, and his knapsack had grown heavy. He could not make the two guides tally, however, and a feeling of uncertainty crept over his mind. He felt oddly baffled, frustrated. His thought grew thick. Decision was most difficult. "I'm muddled," he thought; "I must be tired," as at length he chose the most likely arm. "Sooner or later it will bring me to an inn, though not the one I intended." He accepted his walker's luck, and started briskly. The arm read, "Over Litacy Hill" in small, fine letters that danced and shifted every time he looked at them; but the name was not discoverable on the map. It was, however, inviting like the short cut. A similar impulse again directed his choice. Only this time it seemed more insistent, almost urgent.

And he became aware, then, of the exceeding loneliness of the country about him. The road for a hundred yards went straight, then curved like a white river running into space; the deep blue-green of heather lined the banks, spreading upwards through the twilight; and occasional small pines stood solitary here and there, all unexplained. The curious adjective, having made its appearance, haunted him. So many things that afternoon were similarly--unexplained: the short cut, the darkened map, the names on the sign-post, his own erratic impulses, and the growing strange confusion that crept upon his spirit. The entire country-side needed explanation, though perhaps "interpretation" was the truer word. Those little lonely trees had made him see it. Why had he lost his way so easily? Why did he suffer vague impressions to influence his direction? Why was he here--exactly here? And why did he go now "over Litacy Hill"? Then, by a green field that shone like a thought of daylight amid the darkness of the moor, he saw a figure lying in the grass. It was a blot upon the landscape, a mere huddled patch of dirty rags, yet with a certain horrid picturesqueness too; and his mind--though his German was of the schoolroom order--at once picked out the German equivalents as against the English. Lump and Lumpen flashed across his brain most oddly. They seemed in that moment right, and so expressive, almost like onomatopoeic words, if that were possible of sight. Neither "rags" nor "rascal" would have fitted what he saw. The adequate description was in German.

Here was a clue tossed up by the part of him that did not reason. But it seems he missed it.

And the next minute the tramp rose to a sitting posture and asked the time of evening. In German he asked it. And Martin, answering without a second's hesitation, gave it, also in German, "halb sieben"--half-past six. The instinctive guess was accurate. A glance at his watch when he looked a moment later proved it. He heard the man say, with the covert insolence of tramps, "T'ank you; much opliged." For Martin had not shown his watch--another intuition subconsciously obeyed.

He quickened his pace along that lonely road, a curious jumble of thoughts and feelings surging through him. He had somehow known the question would come, and come in German.

Yet it flustered and dismayed him. Another thing had also flustered and dismayed him. He had expected it in the same queer fashion: it was right. For when the ragged brown thing rose to ask the question, a part of it remained lying on the grass--another brown, dirty thing. There were two tramps. And he saw both faces clearly. Behind the untidy beards, and below the old slouch hats, he caught the look of unpleasant, clever faces that watched him closely while he passed.

The eyes followed him. For a second he looked straight into those eyes, so that he could not fail to know them. And he understood, quite horridly, that both faces were too sleek, refined, and cunning for those of ordinary tramps. The men were not really tramps at all. They were disguised.

"How covertly they watched me!" was his thought, as he hurried along the darkening road, aware in dead earnestness now of the loneliness and desolation of the moorland all about him.

Uneasy and distressed, he increased his pace. Midway in thinking what an unnecessarily clanking noise his nailed boots made upon the hard white road, there came upon him with a rush together the company of these things that haunted him as "unexplained." They brought a single definite message: That all this business was not really meant for him at all, and hence his confusion and bewilderment; that he had intruded into someone else's scenery, and was trespassing upon another's map of life. By some wrong inner turning he had interpolated his per-son into a group of foreign forces which operated in the little world of someone else.

Unwittingly, somewhere, he had crossed the threshold, and now was fairly in--a trespasser, an eavesdropper, a Peeping Torn. He was listening, peeping; overhearing things he had no right to know, because they were intended for another. Like a ship at sea he was intercepting wireless messages he could not properly interpret, because his Receiver was not accurately tuned to their reception. And more--these messages were warnings!

Then fear dropped upon him like the night. He was caught in a net of delicate, deep forces he could not manage, knowing neither their origin nor purpose. He had walked into some huge psychic trap elaborately planned and baited, yet calculated for another than himself. Something had lured him in, something in the landscape, the time of day, his mood. Owing to some undiscovered weakness in himself he had been easily caught. His fear slipped easily into terror.

What happened next happened with such speed and concentration that it all seemed crammed into a moment. At once and in a heap it happened. It was quite inevitable. Down the white road to meet him a man came swaying from side to side in drunkenness quite obviously feigned--a tramp; and while Martin made room for him to pass, the lurch changed in a second to attack, and the fellow was upon him. The blow was
sudden and terrific, yet even while it fell Martin was aware that behind him rushed a second man, who caught his legs from under him and bore him with a thud and crash to the ground. Blows rained then; he saw a gleam of something shining; a sudden deadly nausea plunged him into utter weakness where resistance was impossible.

Something of fire entered his throat, and from his mouth poured a thick sweet thing that choked him. The world sank far away into darkness... Yet through all the horror and confusion ran the trail of two clear thoughts: he realised that the first tramp had sneaked at a fast double through the heather and so come down to meet him; and that something heavy was torn from fastenings that clipped it tight and close beneath his clothes against his body...

Abruptly then the darkness lifted, passed utterly away. He found himself peering into the map against the signpost. The wind was flapping the corners against his cheek, and he was poring over names that now he saw quite clear. Upon the arms of the sign-post above were those he had expected to find, and the map recorded them quite faithfully. All was accurate again and as it should be. He read the name of the village he had meant to make--it was plainly visible in the dusk, two miles the distance given. Bewildered, shaken, unable to think of anything, he stuffed the map into his pocket unfolded, and hurried forward like a man who has just wakened from an awful dream that had compressed into a single second all the detailed misery of some prolonged, oppressive nightmare.

He broke into a steady trot that soon became a run; the perspiration poured from him; his legs felt weak, and his breath was difficult to manage. He was only conscious of the overpowering desire to get away as fast as possible from the sign-post at the cross-roads where the dreadful vision had flashed upon him. For Martin, accountant on a holiday, had never dreamed of any world of psychic possibilities. The entire thing was torture. It was worse than a "cooked" balance of the books that some conspiracy of clerks and directors proved at his innocent door. He raced as though the country-side ran crying at his heels. And always still ran with him the incredible conviction that none of this was really meant for himself at all. He had overheard the secrets of another. He had taken the warning for another into himself, and so altered its direction. He had thereby prevented its right delivery. It all shocked him beyond words. It dislocated the machinery of his just and accurate soul. The warning was intended for another, who could not--would not--now receive it.

The physical exertion, however, brought at length a more comfortable reaction and some measure of composure. With the lights in sight, he slowed down and entered the village at a reasonable pace. The inn was
reached, a bedroom inspected and engaged, and supper ordered with the solid comfort of a large Bass to satisfy an unholy thirst and complete the restoration of balance. The unusual sensations largely passed
away, and the odd feeling that anything in his simple, wholesome world required explanation was no longer present. Still with a vague uneasiness about him, though actual fear quite gone, he went into the bar to smoke an after-supper pipe and chat with the natives, as his pleasure was upon a holiday, and so saw two men leaning upon the counter at the far end with their backs towards him. He saw their faces instantly in the glass, and the pipe nearly slipped from between his teeth. Clean-shaven, sleek, clever faces--and he caught a word or two as they talked over their drinks--German words. Well dressed they were, both men, with nothing about them calling for particular attention; they might have been two tourists holiday-making like himself in tweeds and walking-boots. And they presently paid for their drinks and went out. He never saw them face to face at all; but the sweat broke out afresh all over him, a feverish rush of heat and ice together ran about his body; beyond question he recognised the two tramps, this time not disguised--not yet disguised.

He remained in his corner without moving, puffing violently at an extinguished pipe, gripped helplessly by the return of that first vile terror. It came again to him with an absolute clarity of certainty that it was not with himself they had to do, these men, and, further, that he had no right in the world to interfere. He had no locus standi at all; it would be immoral...even if the opportunity came. And the opportunity, he felt, would come. He had been an eavesdropper, and had come upon private information of a secret kind that he had no right to make use of, even that good might come--even to save life. He sat on in his corner, terrified and silent, waiting for the thing that should happen next.

But night came without explanation. Nothing happened. He slept soundly. There was no other guest at the inn but an elderly man, apparently a tourist like himself. He wore gold-rimmed glasses, and in the morning Martin overheard him asking the landlord what direction he should take for Litacy Hill. His teeth began then to chatter and a weakness came into his knees. "You turn to the left at the cross-roads," Martin broke in before the landlord could reply; "you'll see the sign-post about two miles from here, and after that it's a matter of four miles more." How in the world did he know, flashed horribly through him. "I'm going that way myself," he was saying next; "I'll go with you for a bit--if you don't mind!" The words came out impulsively and ill-considered; of their own accord they came. For his own direction was exactly opposite.

He did not want the man to go alone. The stranger, however, easily evaded his offer of companionship. He thanked him with the remark that he was starting later in the day... They were standing, all three, beside the horse-trough in front of the inn, when at that very moment a tramp, slouching along the road, looked up and asked the time of day. And it was the man with the gold-rimmed glasses who told him.

"T'ank you; much opliged," the tramp replied, passing on with his slow, slouching gait, while the landlord, a talkative fellow, proceeded to remark upon the number of Germans that lived in England and were ready to swell the Teutonic invasion which he, for his part, deemed imminent.

But Martin heard it not. Before he had gone a mile upon his way he went into the woods to fight his conscience all alone. His feebleness, his cowardice, were surely criminal. Real anguish tortured him. A dozen times he decided to go back upon his steps, and a dozen times the singular authority that whispered he had no right to interfere prevented him. How could he act upon knowledge gained by eavesdropping? How interfere in the private business of another's hidden life merely because he had overheard, as at the telephone, its secret dangers? Some inner confusion prevented straight thinking altogether. The stranger would merely think him mad. He had no "fact" togoupon... He smothered a hundred impulses...and finally went on his way with a shaking, troubled heart.

The last two days of his holiday were ruined by doubts and questions and alarms--all justified later when he read of the murder of a tourist upon Litacy Hill. The man wore gold-rimmed glasses, and carried in a belt about his person a large sum of money. His throat was cut.

And the police were hard upon the trail of a mysterious pair of tramps, said to be--Germans.

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It's f&@#'n brilliant!

Found a stack of Shaun Micallef's work from his Full Frontal and Micallef Pogram days. You know, back when Australian TV producers knew how to do decent sketch comedy. Enjoy!

Billy Connolly's Australian World Tour



David McGahan: Marco Polo


Roger Explosion


Fafenefenoiby


David McGahan: Cats


David McGahan: Teeth


Parliament Question Time


David McGahan: JFK Conspiracy


David McGahan: Trees

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We are all relativists now

George Pell, in the SMH:

To be a disciple of Christ means accepting discipline because the Catholic church has never followed today's fashionable notion of the primacy of conscience, which is, of course secular relativism with a religious face.

If “relativism” means taking a considered and reasoned approach to an important issue, rather than blindly following religious dogma, then call me a proud relativist!

(Via Lines from a Floating Life)

Just to make it worth your while . . .

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Now I've seen everything

Received this in my inbox this morning:

WORKSHOP ON PHILOSOPHY & ENGINEERING (WPE-2007)

Call for Papers: pdf version here
Location: Delft University of Technology (TUDelft), The Netherlands
Date: October 29-31, 2007 (Monday-Wednesday)
Link: http://www-illigal.ge.uiuc.edu/wpe

Theme: Engineering Meets Philosophy, and Philosophy Meets Engineering
On October 19, 2006 a working group on Philosophy and Engineering was convened at MIT to discuss the need for greater interaction between philosophers and engineers. The result was an agreement to move forward with a workshop to encourage reflection on engineering, engineers, and technology by philosophers and engineers.

The first Workshop on Philosophy & Engineering (WPE-2007) will be held in the Department of Philosophy, TUDelft, 29-31 October 2007 (Monday-Wednesday). Sessions will include talks by invited and selected speakers as well as a number of special sessions.

Extended abstracts (1-2 pages) are invited for submission in one of three tracks or demes:

* Philosophy (Deme chair: Carl Mitcham)
* Philosophical Reflections of Practitioners (Deme chair: Billy V. Koen)
* Ethics (Deme co-chairs: Michael Davis & P. Aarne Vesilind)

I can just picture the keynote address: "So . . . um . . . how about those Eagles on the weekend?"

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A non-theistic concept of evil?

Thanks to SB for the link to this Frontpage interview with Christopher Hitchens on the topic of his book, god Is Not Great. I particularly liked this quote:

I also have come to the conclusion that religious belief, even in its supposedly benign form, is the clue to the origin of totalitarianism. A permanent inescapable surveillance; the abolition of the private thought; the constant guilt and fear; the irremovable and unchallengeable authority; the sado-masochism of begging for rewards and fearing punishments - this is the species at its most servile and primeval level. The wish for a Big Brother comes from the childhood of the race, and has to be outgrown in order for us to develop self-respect.

Elsewhere in the interview he says something very interesting:

If you are a "pantheist", as the men I mentioned earlier (Spinoza and Jefferson and Einstein) probably or arguably were, you will agree with me that a god which is everywhere is just as likely to be nowhere in particular. If someone says that god is love I don't violently object. If he then says that love is god I find myself feeling uneasy. The undoubted existence of conscience - doing the right thing when nobody is looking, and even deriving satisfaction from the doing - need not posit the supernatural. I like to give blood when I can: I don't lose a pint but someone else gains one. I also hope to benefit when I need blood myself (I have a very rare blood group). Why intrude extraneous complexities here?

As for evil, I say in the book that I believe in its existence and even feel that I have felt its presence. But this does not lead me to infer the existence of Satan and, as you well know, believers in god only complicate their ontology when they try (or fail) to do the same. [Emphasis added]

What does he mean? I could understand if he was simply using the word "evil" to refer to that which he finds harmful or morally objectionable--or even that which he thinks we all should find harmful or morally objectionable. But he's describing "evil" here as something palpable--he has felt its presence--and that sounds like God-talk to me, or at least supernaturalism. If he objects to the idea that love is God, why would he, as an atheist, embrace the notion that evil is, if not Satan, then a "presence"?

Perhaps he's simply framing his message for an audience--David Horowitz and the Frontpage readership--whose Rightwing comic-book worldview might not accommodate Hitchens' strident anti-theism unless he throws them a bone marked "But I Still Believe in Capital 'E' Evil" to reassure them that he's still on their side. (No offence to SB intended, btw.)

Or am I just misinterpreting him?

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Pell and Hickey: cult leaders without a cult

National Day of Secularism

May the 26th

What does the Catholic Church in Australia have against secularism, liberal democracy and the Enlightenment? Quite a lot, it seems, because in the last 24 hours no less than two high-ranking clergy have warned Australian Catholic politicians that if they vote in favour of expanded stem-cell research, they risk being kicked out of Benedict's gang. By now you would have heard about Sydney Archbishop Cardinal George Pell's heavying of Catholic parliamentarians in NSW who are considering voting in support of a therapeutic cloning bill currently being debated in the Lower House:

Cardinal George Pell has warned Catholic politicians they face "consequences" in the life of the church should they vote for an "immoral" bill before the NSW Parliament to expand stem cell research.

[. . .]

"These possibilities are quite grotesque and I'd be very surprised if they had approval throughout the population," he said.

"To create a human embryo for the express purpose of using it and destroying, that's the way we treat lab rats. It's totally inappropriate for human beings. It's a perverse new direction in human experimentation.

"I don't think Catholic politicians, Christian politicians or pro-life politicians who has properly informed their conscience should vote for these changes."

"Cloning is not quite the same as abortion and the legislation for such a thing as cloning is different from actually performing cloning," Dr Pell told reporters.

"But it is a serious moral matter and Catholic politicians who vote for this legislation must realise that their voting has consequences for their place in the life of the church."

As Bruce points out, Pell seems to be taking his Escriva-esque contribution to political science, what he calls "normative democracy"--"simply a case of “norms” (coincidentally parallel to church doctrine) that the state was not allowed to breach (in other words if the Church dictates against it Australia doesn’t get a say)"--to a new level. But one wonders whether Pell's acting entirely off his own bat, or in response to a memo from head office, given that this morning Perth Archbishop Barry Hickey issued his own fatwa against stemcell research. Hickey has form, of course: early last month, in response to a similar call from Pope Benedict, he declared that any doctor performing an abortion would be excluded from communion and would potentially face excommunication. Declaring that Catholics who vote for therapeutic cloning are acting against the Church's teaching, Hickey said:

"I had to speak about conscience and I would call on Catholic politicians to examine their conscience before taking communion if they supported stemcell research."

I don't want politicians Catholic or otherwise to "examine their conscience" on this issue (or any other) if it means that they stay up nights worrying about whether their sky-daddy will cast them into a lake of unquenchable fire for eternity if they disobey the orders of the Archbishop. Because, let's face it, that's insane. I want them to use one of the few opportunities they get in party political life to actually use their brains--and in the process, to tell the likes of Pell and Hickey to go fuck themselves. Fortunately, that's what they seem to be doing.

Courtesy of SMH. And too bloody right!

Let us hope, then, that Catholic school principals show as much backbone. As Mikey blogged a few days ago, earlier in the week Pell proclaimed that school principals in his archdiocese would have to take an "oath of fidelity" regarding Church teaching on homosexuality, birth control, and the ordination of women:

In a first for the Australian church, the Archbishop of Sydney, Cardinal George Pell, is set to extend the oath of fidelity and profession of faith, a requirement of church law for bishops, priests and heads of seminaries, to all senior educational leaders.
The oath demands "religious submission of intellect and will" on questions of faith and morals - even if these are inferred but not defined by the pope and his bishops - and an acceptance that everything solemnly taught by church tradition is divinely inspired.
It suggests they would be bound not only to impart these teachings but to live by them. [Emphasis added]

Religious submission of intellect and will? Can I just suggest, to any principal who is seriously considering "submitting his or her intellect and will" to the sky-daddy's representatives on Earth, that you don't deserve to be at the helm of an educational institution in the 21st century? Perhaps management training at McDonalds is more your speed, because schools (real schools, that is) are supposed to develop in students the ability to think and to reason for themselves, not to transform them into mindless religious automatons.

Indeed, Pell seems to be taking cue from Jerry Falwell. Just look at what he has in store for those poor students whose parents are fool enough to believe that five to twelve in the Catholic education system will magically transform their little darlings into model citizens:

Among its other new measures are marriage preparation classes for senior secondary school students, twice-yearly reviews of its educational bodies, and forums so Catholic politicians can be updated on church teachings.
There will also be renewed efforts to teach youth about "sexuality and life issues" through formal courses and seminars, and measures to bring in to the fold young people inspired by next year's World Youth Day.
Cardinal Pell has taken an intense interest in Catholic education, ordering the rewriting of the religious education curriculum, and aiming to turn around Catholic thinking that faith is caught, not taught.

Sorry: that's not a school, it's a madrassa. All this talk about getting values back into the classroom . . . when did education stop being a value?

In the end, though, you have to laugh at these gentlemen who have been so cloistered from reality that they appear to think this is the eleventh century, there's still a Great Chain of Being and the secular powers still defer to religious authority unquestioningly. Unfortunately for them, most Australians, and indeed many Catholics, have voted with their feet on abortion, birth control, women's rights, gay rights and stem cell research. Pell and Hickey and cult leaders without a cult.

See also Ninglun's post

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Expandable posts

You may have noticed that I've managed to enable expandable posts on this blog. Given that this function isn't native to Blogger, I've had to manipulate the template somewhat; and if you'd like to know how to do it, Dummies Guide to Google Blogger Beta has a easy-to-follow tutorial.

Unfortunately, I haven't been able to figure out how to get rid of the "Read More!" link from older posts (or even this one), but I can live with that.


Just to make it worth your while . . .

Aphex Twin: "Come to Daddy"

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Is Ninglun onto something?

Image courtesy Cleveland State University Art Gallery

Researchers have found that Buddhists are indeed happier and calmer than other people, including happy-clappers! From the BBC:

Tests carried out in the United States reveal that areas of their brain associated with good mood and positive feelings are more active.

The findings come as another study suggests that Buddhist meditation can help to calm people.

Researchers at University of California San Francisco Medical Centre have found the practise can tame the amygdala, an area of the brain which is the hub of fear memory.

They found that experienced Buddhists, who meditate regularly, were less likely to be shocked, flustered, surprised or as angry compared to other people.

Paul Ekman, who carried out the study, said: "The most reasonable hypothesis is that there is something about conscientious Buddhist practice that results in the kind of happiness we all seek."

[. . .]

In a separate study, scientists at the University of Wisconsin at Madison used new scanning techniques to examine brain activity in a group of Buddhists.

Their tests revealed activity in the left prefrontal lobes of experienced Buddhist practitioners.

This area is linked to positive emotions, self-control and temperament.

Their tests showed this area of the Buddhists' brains are constantly lit up and not just when they are meditating.

This, the scientists said, suggests they are more likely to experience positive emotions and be in good mood.

"We can now hypothesise with some confidence that those apparently happy, calm Buddhist souls one regularly comes across in places such as Dharamsala, India, really are happy," said Professor Owen Flanagan, of Duke University in North Carolina.

Dharamsala is the home base of exiled Tibetan leader the Dalai Lama.

The studies are published in New Scientist magazine.

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Completely meat

"So what does the meat have in mind."

Found this via a discussion about minds and brains at Pharyngula (note--the post is truncated. Click "Read More!" to, well, read more):

A dialogue by Terry Bisson. From a series of stories entitled "Alien/Nation"
in the April [1991?] issue of Omni.

"They're made out of meat."

"Meat?"

"Meat. They're made out of meat."

"Meat?"

"There's no doubt about it. We picked several from different parts of the planet, took them aboard our recon vessels, probed them all the way through. They're completely meat."

"That's impossible. What about the radio signals? The messages to the stars."

"They use the raido waves to talk, but the signals don't come from them. The signals come from machines."

"So who made the machines? That's who we want to contact."

"They made the machines. That's what I'm trying to tell you. Meat made the machines."

"That's ridiculous. How can meat make a machine? You're asking me to believe in sentient meat."

"I'm not asking you, I 'm telling you. These creatures are the only sentient race in the sector and they're made out of meat."

"Maybe they're like the Orfolei. You know, a carbon-based intelligence that goes through a meat stage."

"Nope. They're born meat and they die meat. We studied them for several of their life spans, which didn't take too long. Do you have any idea the life span of meat?"

"Spare me. Okay, maybe they're only part meat. You know, like the Weddilei. A meat head with an electron plamsa brain inside."

"Nope. We thought of that, since they do have meat heads like the Weddilei. But I told you, we probed them. They're meat all the way through."

"No brain?"

"Oh, there is a brain all right. It's just that the brain is made out of meat!"

"So... what does the thinking?"

"You're not understanding, are you? The brain does the thinking. The meat."

"Thinking meat! You're asking me to believe in thinking meat!"

"Yes, thinking meat! Conscious meat! Loving meat. Dreaming meat. The meat is the whole deal! Are you getting the picture?"

"Omigod. You're serious then. They're made out of meat."

"Finally, Yes. They are indeed made out meat. And they've been trying to get in touch with us for almost a hundred of their years."

"So what does the meat have in mind."

"First it wants to talk to us. Then I imagine it wants to explore the universe, contact other sentients, swap ideas and information. The usual."

"We're supposed to talk to meat?"

"That's the idea. That's the message they're sending out by radio. 'Hello. Anyone out there? Anyone home?' That sort of thing."

"They actually do talk, then. They use words, ideas, concepts?"

"Oh, yes. Except they do it with meat."

"I thought you just told me they used radio."

"They do, but what do you think is on the radio? Meat sounds. You know how when you slap or flap meat it makes a noise? They talk by flapping their meat at each other. They can even sing by squirting air through their meat."

"Omigod. Singing meat. This is altogether too much. So what do you advise?"

"Officially or unofficially?"

"Both."

"Officially, we are required to contact, welcome, and log in any and all sentient races or multibeings in the quadrant, without prejudice, fear, or favor. Unofficially, I advise that we erase the reconds and forget the whole thing."

"I was hoping you would say that."

"It seems harsh, but there is a limit. Do we really want to make contact with meat?"

"I agree one hundred percent. What's there to say?" `Hello, meat. How's it going?' But will this work? How many planets are we dealing with here?"

"Just one. They can travel to other planets in special meat containers, but they can't live on them. And being meat, they only travel theough C space. which limits them to the speed of light and makes the possibility of their ever making contact pretty slim. Infinitesimal, in fact."

"So we just pretend there's no one home in the universe."

"That's it."

"Cruel. But you sid it yourself, who want to meet meat? And the ones who have been aboard our vessels, the ones you have probed? You're sure they won't remember?"

"They'll be considered crackpots if they do. We went into their heads and smoothed out their meat so that we're just a dream to them."

"A dream to meat! How strangely appropiate, that we should be meat's dream."

"And we can marked this sector unoccupied."

"Good. Agreed, officially and unofficially. Case closed. Any others? Anyone interesting on that side of the galaxy?"

"Yes, a rather shy but sweet hydrogen core cluster intelligence in a class nine star in G445 zone. Was in contact two galactic rotation ago, wants to be friendly again."

"They always come around."

"And why not? Imagine how unbearably, how unutterably cold the universe would be if one were all alone.

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