Ranking God and the Seattle transit system

Seattle Bus Driver gets beaten up. This story caught my eye for a number of reasons.  The biggest one is that the bus driver is forgiving her attacker.

Reviewing church. *this article was disabled.  I have no idea, as it was current.  Anyway, it was about a pastor who’s paying $50 to the unchurched to come to services and review them. [URL fixed by JR 2013May21]

PZ Myers I luvs him so

PZ Myers, recursively noted atheist of note, has the following to say about a non science oriented health dude who is LOSING his SH*T over being bumped down the shorty awards (a fun but BS tweeting award).

Look, guy, it’s an internet award. For tweeting. Take the big picture and recognize that as far as significance goes, it’s like finding an especially large and fluffy bit of belly button lint.

Brian Eno on Gospel Singing

“I belong to a gospel choir. They know I am an atheist but they are very tolerant. Ultimately, the message of gospel music is that everything’s going to be all right. If you listen to millions of gospel records — and I have — and try to distil what they all have in common it’s a sense that somehow we can triumph. There could be many thousands of things. But the message… well , there are two messages… one is a kind of optimism for the future rather than a pessimism. Gospel music is never pessimistic, it’s never ‘oh my god, its all going down the tubes’, like the blues often is. Gospel music is always about the possibility of transcendence, of things getting better. It’s also about the loss of ego, that you will win through or get over things by losing yourself, becoming part of something better. Both those messages are completely universal and are nothing to do with religion or a particular religion. They’re to do with basic human attitudes and you can have that attitude and therefore sing gospel even if you are not religious.”

Rest of the interview is here.

The power of the checklist, and other news items

Finance, airplanes and checklists.

Katie is still in Victoria looking after Granny.  Having somebody there is making life a lot easier for my folks, who are mad with worry about her, and for Garry and Dianne and Greg and Tracy, all of whom have come to visit her.

I talked on the phone with Katie for about half an hour yesterday.  Apart from her reading Twilight, (Keith’s anguished cry, “I tried to set her on the right path!”), and not getting enough sleep, she’s doing well.  I am so proud of her helping out like this.  Kat and Kashka miss her.

Watched Touching the Void yesterday.  UNBELIEVABLE.  A must see.  I cannot recommend it highly enough; suitable for all ages except at one point there’s some quite lurid cursing, and since there’s a lot of atheism in it it’s not recommended for deists.  The lurid cursing seems entirely appropriate to me.  You’ve broken your leg, hung in midair for 90 minutes, had your climbing partner cut the rope and you’ve just fallen an additional 100 feet into a crevasse.  I’d be painting the air a pretty bright blue meself at that point.  Except right about then I’d give up, and Joe didn’t.

My letter to the folks that are looking after my retirement money

Dear K and G,

The $xxxx.xx was not transferred into my account on Friday.  I am curious.  Did you folks, in the process of transferring my accounts out of one bucket into another, forget that I had a direct deposit set up?

What are the odds your company will recompense me for the overdraft charges I’ve incurred as a result of the mishandling of my money?  Or am I going to get a polite version of ‘suck it up, buttercup’?  It seems I have much to look forward to.  I’ve been getting the deposits since July of last year, and two out of the seven deposits have been late so far…. Alas, my creditors aren’t as sloppy about dates as I am.  It’s sad, isn’t it, how consistent and heartless my creditors are in the face of my incompetence.  Yes, I take one hundred percent responsibility for the money not being in my account on Friday, because, after all, I chose you as my service provider and now I must live with the results.  See how helpful I’m being?  I told myself to suck it up.

I know that what I have parked with (your company) isn’t much money the way you folks calculate things, but it’s all I have, and you don’t need to keep custody of it, if it’s too much like work.  Hope to hear from you on Monday to get this sorted out.  I’ll be in a great mood, since I will have spent the whole weekend worrying about what’s happened to my retirement money.

Allegra

Needless to say, I await their response with interest.

I just did something I’ve never done before.  I had people doing Christian witness on my door step; I smiled graciously at them, said, “Sorry, I’m an atheist,” and closed the door.  Seeing as how I was in the middle of writing the above noted letter, it wasn’t hard at all to be in a truth telling mood.

The atheist’s dilemma

There are essentially two broad lifestreams, ways or paths of being an atheist.  One is to define oneself in opposition to theists and purveyors of superstition.  The other is to define yourself in terms of reason and leave God out altogether.

Up until this point I’ve felt the need to define myself in opposition to God-wallopers, but more and more atheists are striking up a new tune.  There is no reason for superstitious people to expect to call us down to their level for the purpose of the argument they wish to win; it’s the job of the modern atheist to get free of the mire and muck of hatred and ignorance, however fancily garbed – and stay that way.

I believe in the power of the human mind, and sadly rue its limitations. I would rather live with those limitations than any imposed by any supernatural being, however benign.

I believe that an ounce of my experience is worth a pound of someone else’s prescription; but when I don’t have the experience, I will gladly fill the prescription.

I believe that from atoms I was constructed, in the shelter of my mother’s womb, and to atoms I will return, and that these atoms will never appear again in this orderly dance, no, never, even if the universe is eternal.

I believe that apes are my cousins and that we share a common ancestor not just with apes, but with every mammal; I believe that every cell in my body is a timeline of life on Earth, from the viruses my ancestors took into their bodies and bequeathed to me, to the DDT that’s lodged in my body fat.

I believe with a passion and anger that occasionally startles me, that every child born should be a longed for, welcomed member of my planetary family.

I believe that every person on earth has meaning, value and inherent dignity, even the ones who hate me and want to kill me.  I believe that if I cannot look at a good and productive person and an violent malefactor without seeing myself mirrored there, I am likely lying to myself and losing a lesson.

I believe that the power of intelligent consensus will replace the clunky and meanspirited political engines running amok in the world today, and to the extent I can, I run my life by consensus.

I believe that corporations should not be legal persons.  Until a corporation could be jailed, it cannot be a person.

Family, love, learning, work and service to others are the five pillars of my life, and each day is an opportunity to give myself to these things.

I believe I am responsible for my own health, mental and otherwise, and that part of that responsibility is looking out for others so that they will see some benefit in looking out for me.

I believe in drinking beer from the bottle to avoid dirtying dishes unnecessarily; that games and sports are to be played first and watched only a distant second; that self-sufficiency and generosity co-exist in a balanced life, and that although no good deed goes unpunished, it’s the badly thought through good deeds that tend to cause the most trouble.

I believe it’s possible to think about things too much.  As much as I like words, I cannot express all I think I know, and all I know I feel.  I believe I must spend a part of every day deconstructing myself, my biases, my weaknesses and my strengths; part of every day laughing; part of every day working; but I am happiest when I don’t seem to be thinking at all.

I believe that science, inquiry, observation and intuition all have their place in coming up with solutions to human problems.  I believe that I will never fully understand how my mind, my senses and my body work, or don’t work, together, and that’s okay.

I believe in the power of individuals and families and whole civilizations to change, both for the better and for the worse, and that change for the better takes love and work, and change for the worse takes hate and destructiveness. We may never tire of war; the uniforms are too cool.

I believe in the healing power of nature; the grandeur of space; our cosmic good fortune in dwelling on our green blue world.

I believe that the moon belongs to everybody, and the earth does too.  But I don’t believe that anybody else will necessarily agree with me, and I believe it would be a terrible world if everybody agreed with me and was just like me.  I believe in variety, I believe in mongrels, and I believe in life.

Jesus is coming. Or not.

You know how I said that Jesus is late for his appointment???  Personally I think he’s a no show.  The Kingdom of God and the Immanence of Christ are right here, right now.  You may call it something else, but you can’t wait for Jesus; he’s already here.  That’s why I always thought the Rapture was bad theology; it’s just an excuse to sit on your ass (among many, I have my own excuses and I don’t need yours) while the poor suffer.

Now we know why Jesus is late!

When he finally makes it past the abortionist’s curette, the Christians will claim this is his second visit, and the Jews will get all stabby because they will say this is the first time he came to the party.  The Muslims won’t take any proof that either group offers, even as Messiah chews through Jerusalem like Taz on crystal meth (remember he promised us a sword… when he bails on the Temple and starts pulling prostitutes out of their cribs and healing their AIDS, and then publicly blasting the rabbis for their lack of care of the poor, what a glad day that will be!!!)  And Isa PBUH (Jesus, Yeshuah) is a Messiah for Muslims, he’s just not the son of God, just to make it even more confusing.  Crazy times.

The essentials of messianic thought in Judaism. Ganked from Wikipedia, sorry.

Belief in the eventual coming of the moshiach…is part of the minimum requirements of Jewish belief. In the Shemoneh Esrei prayer, recited three times daily, we pray for all of the elements of the coming of the moshiach: ingathering of the exiles;

*ed note… Bonnie, Alan, are you guys going to live in Israel soon? If you can hold off, I’d like that.

restoration of the religious courts of justice;

*ed note. Bleaugh.  Because, you know, justice for women and children sucks SO BAD.

an end of wickedness, sin and heresy;

*ed note; right about then I started breathing again, because at this rate the Messiah can only return in the middle of a wasteland, the rest of us having croaked.

reward to the righteous;

*dunno what that means, but it sounds good

rebuilding of Jerusalem;

*urban renewal as a religious prescription?  Kewl.

restoration of the line of King David;

*Read King Jesus on that topic, yes indeedy.

and restoration of Temple service.

*once again, urban renewal mashup with religion.  And it sounds like a Tweet from translink.ca. Interesting. But with all of these restrictions, I don’t need to worry about a Jewish Messiah any time soon. After all, in the days of the Apostles, they said it would be any minute, but that just reminds me of a joke, “God is it true that to you a thousand years are like a minute and a million dollars is like a penny?”  “Yes, my child.” “Can I have a penny?”  “Just a minute.”

Ah, religion!  My fave.

Oh, no, I feel a rant coming on

All creativity comes from God? You have GOT to be kidding me.  Yes, the article is about something else, but that was the quote that caused my bowels to rumble and my breath to catch.

Creativity does not come from God.  Creativity is definitely affected, channeled, restricted or liberated by belief or unbelief in God, gods, fairies, the Kraken, lil green tentaclechicks and Eric Northman, but creativity is an inside job.

I have spent an entire lifetime, well, since I wrote my first song at the age of eight, thinking about creativity.  What is it? Where does it come from?  Where does it go when it’s gone?  What is it for?  How does one define it broadly enough so that it’s accurate and narrowly enough so that it’s useful?  Who gets to call what’s creative creative?

Are animals creative?  If they are . or aren’t . what does their activity say about human creativity?

I will take a stab at a definition.  I didn’t look at a dictionary first or wikipedia, so forgive me if this sounds clueless or twee.

Creativity is a normal behaviour in which a human being applies what he or she knows or intuits about the world to a novel situation; this creativity may be a thought or it may make an appearance in the world. When this application is successful it’s called creativity; when it’s unsuccessful it’s called a failure or an experiment.  It’s all creativity but the reaction to the results is different.

All creativity is rooted in preference.  If you take six dogs, or six cats, or six orangs, or six people, and ask them to state or make plain their food preferences, you will see that all of them, given choices, will zero in on what they genuinely prefer, or on what they think the other critters want (the whole I didn’t want it until you wanted it thing that I see play out at the food dish every day).  The basic building blocks of creativity are being used the minute an individual thinks “I want….”

There are three levels of creativity.  One is mechanical and we share it with higher mammals (and corvids, and cephalopods and many psittacines).  It is the application of physical objects in the physical world to achieve a particular survival goal, or acquire some preferred item.

The second level is where most of us play.  It happens when we do, think, make or physically embody something new, having learned the mechanics, or basics, of some human skill.  nautilus3 claims my song writing is somehow superior to her quilting, but they are much of a muchness.  Once she knew how to quilt, she got better and faster at it.  Once I knew how to write songs I got better and faster at it; the principle didn’t change.  Songwriting comes out of the place where math meets speech and emotion.  Drumming comes out of the place where math meets movement (along with dance and cheerleading).  Quilting comes out of the place where math meets colour and texture. (nautilus3 STILL hasn’t done a Penrose tiling quilt, no matter how many times I hint…).

The third level is where people make a category concept error and ascribe the product of human intelligence to God.  It is creativity, but of a completely different and novel kind.  Truly novel, not merely accomplished or polished or worthy of study for technical excellence.  In order to be set among the blessed roster of human genius, you must think, and cause to appear clearly, an entire discipline.  For example, the first human being who taught himself to knap flint; the human who took that knowledge and made herself a baby sling because she’d given birth to twins and couldn’t tote both of them (think how she was without other resourceful females at the time and you’ll see how it happened).  One invented a new class of tool and weapon; the other invented a method of making sure she got enough food while she was nursing two younguns.  Playful younguns.  Curious, greedy and helpless younguns; the type who inspire their parents and elders to spend a lot of time thinking about how to keep them safe, how to keep them well, how to keep them fed. Remember, every proto human who formed a thought which resulted in one of his or her descendants living to breeding age skewed our DNA; remember, every living human being had an ancestor who went through a cheetah style reproductive bottleneck, and only the most adaptable, creative, tough and cooperative humans made it through, what with the climate going ass over teakettle, the food supply altering dramatically and the requirement to move quickly and efficiently through all kinds of terrain while encountering new threats and predators pushing down on the weak, slow and sickly.  Creativity in human beings is so obviously one of the differences between humans and our kin that we forget that it TOO is an adaptation.  The best of all possible adaptations, although, for the sake of the planet, maybe not so good. Creativity can also be directed to the invention of derivatives of asset backed securities and the use of mercury in precious metal mining.

The human who systematized hunting and alarm calls for his troupe and nudged humans towards language; the human who mastered fire and invented cooking; those were the creative geniuses.  These days people apply the word genius with gay abandon; I only apply it people who create a new discipline.  James Cameron is a really good director, but he isn’t a genius.  He has not created a new discipline; he has given himself entirely to a discipline which is well established, the art of storytelling through film.  To create a new discipline is not merely to be creative; it is to light, with the torch of reason, an entire area of human capacity WHICH WAS NOT VISIBLE BEFORE and to transfer the capacity to the judgment and use of the world.  Einstein was a genius.  Edison was a genius (also a thief, thug and anti-Semite).  Marie Curie was a genius.  Why?  ‘Cause after they pointed something out, everybody could see it.  Before they pointed it out, it didn’t exist.  Somebody had to invent calculus and it’s a good thing, too, because the internet wouldn’t exist without calculus. (Because the sciences which support all these packets flying around would be crippled without it).   If you read the Wikipedia article about calculus, about ten dudes from a multitude of cultures contributed to the foundations upon which calculus was built; but it took two guys, Leibnitz and Newton, to create a useful discipline.  But, as I was saying, the discipline wasn’t there before. That is true creativity.

As much as I enjoy songwriting and am proud of my output, it’s second order creativity.  It’s true that nobody had to show me how to do it; that’s a natural gift.  It’s like watching Wayne Gretzky skate in his back yard when he was 4.  The combination of encouragement (or in my case, benign neglect, while surrounded by the most glorious voices in folk music as I was growing up) and innate talent (I was harmonizing when I was tiny, because harmonizing is something I do without thought or effort) makes the application of skill to novel situations look effortless.  However, nothing I’ve done has expanded song writing; all of the major elements of everything I do was either codified or made traditional somewhere between 500 and 1000 years ago.   Wayne Gretzky, for talent, love of the game and character, is a model hockey player, but he’s not a genius; his creativity, like mine, colours inside the lines.

Nothing anybody can say to me will make me believe that God is guiding my hand when I write songs.  It is true that I am sometimes flabbergasted by how fast and how strong it do come on sometimes, but I’m also flabbergasted by how badly I can lose my temper in a short period of time, or how fast I can assemble a tasty meal, or respond to someone else’s quip.  When it goes well, it goes as fast as the human mind and body can carry it, but that goes for everybody.  The trick is having a sense of humility about the whole thing.  Somebody invented a system for me to write down songs; until I come up with a better way of doing it (and by god, I hate the system we have now), I’m a 2nd order creative determined to sign my own work.  There’s no shame in that, but twould be a shame indeed if I asked God or the Tooth Fairy to take the credit.

Food

Last night I fed Tom, Peggy, Ben, Paul, Keith and Jeff pork roast done with garlic, bacon and bay leaves (it made the house smell REALLY GOOD) and many, many vegetables, including beans and cauliflower and broccoli and beets and potatoes.  Katie and her housemates were invited, but Katie was already on tap to do shrimp and spinach canneloni that night so she turned me down with thanks.  It would have been an ‘add two leaves to the dining room table and where the hell are the chairs going to come from’ evening if they HAD come, so I don’t complain and I added some chairs to my want list.

Margot quacked like a duck for the folks.  She has a doctor’s appointment on Monday; she needs to be checked out for heart problems, which are quite common in Persians and don’t necessarily show up during the work up prior to neutering; her quacking and breathing issues may be normal Persian noisiness or it may be something more sinister.  She’s so placid, except when I’m brushing her, that she doesn’t appear to have any problems otherwise.  I keep telling myself that she’s like a kid… I get to look after her for a while, and then she’ll leave my life; I’m attached to her but I hope not too intransigent on the subject.  And it’s my own damn fault that I brought her into a household where it would be impossible to keep her as an indoor cat.  She gets FILTHY sometimes, having all that fun out in the rain and dirt.  If it’s really pouring she won’t go out, but light precip doesn’t seem to register.

Back to the Friday Feast.  I said to Ben, “There are two pinball machines downstairs.”  He said, “I’ve never played pinball in my life.”

shock,  horror!

We fixed that. Obviously he must play pinball before he goes to Hudson’s Hope.  (He got a job with Hydro).

After Tom Peggy and Ben went home, I decided I needed both air and exercise, and Paul and I wandered around the neighbourhood looking at the Christmas lights (Keith and Jeff were busy killing zombies in the trial version of Zombie Apocalypse). There are some spectacular displays, especially close to the school.  Then we came back after about half an hour and I picked up the guitar and composed another (what, another frakking tune, what the ???) song, which I think is going to be called “God Willing” and be about the immigration of my ancestors to Canada. No lyrics yet.  I know; for an atheist, I’m such a sucky accommodationist.  But you would be too if you had so many religious relatives, who also happened to be pleasant, intelligent and hard-working.

That’s the single biggest issue I have with the media atheists (I FLATLY REFUSE to use New Atheists.  That’s like calling people who are Christian NEW CHRISTIANS. Atheists are atheists, there’s nothing novel about them, and you can see their lineage throughout history from Epicurus forward.)  They are on the “All theists are stupid” train, whereas I am on the “All human beings have cognitive biases, and atheists may have at least one fewer than theists” train.  Also, many media atheists have the distinct advantage of not giving two shits what their religious relatives think of them, an advantage I don’t have.  It’s why I don’t give vent to some of my more shocking opinions (yes, hard to believe, isn’t it?  But much goes on behind my face that doesn’t come out in my blog).  I was a lot more venty when I started this blog, as I recollect.   I don’t usually go back into the old format portion of the blog unless I’m trying to figure out what happened in say, July of 2005.

Keith called up the optician’s office he was still working at on Saturday (he didn’t give that other job completely up, the wise soul) and hopefully he’ll be getting more hours later this month.  It’s hard to be a young person these days.

Today, AVATAR.  I am very stoked.  Now to check the hellacious mess that is the Translink site and plan my trip itinerary.

I so enjoy feeding people.  It makes me feel good, and that was a damned fine roast.  I miss the rosemary bush from the front of my old house.  A sprig of rosemary in the roasting pan would have made it even more wondrous.

PZ Myers on death

We should feel grief. Pretending that they have ‘transcended’ into some novel quantum mechanical state in which their consciousness persists, or that they are shaking hands with some anthropomorphic spiritual myth in never-never land, does a disservice to ourselves. The pain is real. Don’t deny it. Use it to look at the ones you love who still live and see what you can do to make our existence now a little better, and perhaps a little more conducive to keeping our energies patterned usefully a little longer.

My favourite poem about death, by the great atheist Lucretius

On the Nature of Things…

No single thing abides; but all things flow.
Fragment to fragment clings-the things thus grow
Until we know and name them. By degrees
They melt, and are no more the things we know.

Globed from the atoms falling slow or swift
I see the suns, I see the systems lift
Their forms; and even the systems and the suns
Shall go back slowly to the eternal drift.

You too, oh earth-your empires, lands, and seas –
Least with your stars, of all the galaxies,
Globed from the drift like these, like these you too
Shalt go. You are going, hour by hour, like these.

Nothing abides. The seas in delicate haze
Go off; those mooned sands forsake their place;
And where they are, shall other seas in turn
Mow with their scythes of whiteness other bays.

The seeds that once were we take flight and fly,
Winnowed to earth, or whirled along the sky,
Not lost but disunited. Life lives on.
It is the lives, the lives, the lives, that die.

They go beyond recapture and recall,
Lost in the all-indissoluble All:-
Gone like the rainbow from the fountain’s foam,
Gone like the spindrift shuddering down the squall.

Flakes of the water, on the waters cease!
Soul of the body, melt and sleep like these.
Atoms to atoms-weariness to rest –
Ashes to ashes-hopes and fears to peace!

O Science, lift aloud your voice that stills
The pulse of fear, and through the conscience thrills –
Thrills through the conscience with the news of peace –
How beautiful your feet are on the hills!

This is the poem that my church’s Care and Concern Committee sent to me after my grandmother died a few years back.  A beautiful sentiment…..

The Humanists are going to eat me!

I’m off to my first Humanist group meeting at the church.  All this time and I’ve never gone.  The fact they’re discussing The Useful God of Fiction likely has much to do with my presence tonight.

Later…

Well, they didn’t come anywhere close to eating me and the discussion was in some ways a hearty “Please can we talk about something besides other people’s delusions.”  Sure.