The 21st century is a little more than a decade old and already we've lost too many heroes: Ted Kennedy, Pete Seeger, Walter Cronkite, Benazir Bhutto...all figures fossilized at various points in the archaeological timeline of social progress.
Tomorrow it will be 9 years since the passing of perhaps THE greatest single American patriot. I rank him up there with Washington and Lincoln. Perhaps if he'd lived at the right time, history books would speak kindly of a President Thompson. Unfortunately, he occupied that cesspool of desperation and depravity referred to as the latter half of the 20th century. A time when the powers that be were raking up all they could in the name of building a strong ownership society.
The first decade of the 21st saw the culmination of 35-40 years worth of high stakes gimmeeism on the part of our decadent aristocracy. And if you don't think we have one, well, Jasper, I don't know what to tell you. Their decadence may not be as blatant as that of the French on the eve of their revolution; but who knows to what heights they would soar if lead-based face powder was as popular today as in the late 1700s?
Perhaps that's why Mr. Thompson had only survived through the infancy of that horrid decade able to take no more as it grew into a perverse conscious embracing of the cliche that somehow giving the rich more would improve things. It wasn't for lack of courage that humanity was failing, but energy. The end of the 60s had knocked the wind out of the last great leftist uprising, why should this one be any different?
I think he would've been glad to see two Obama presidencies, the near-universal acceptance of marriage equality, and of course what some may see as the implosion of the drug war with marijuana legalization in Colorado and Washington state. However, the lack of accountability for Wall Street financiers who pulled off one of the most spectacular heists of all time, the NSA spying programs, the prospects of drones policing us by patrolling the skies, these would be sure to get the great Dr. Gonzo going...if only to remind us that there was still much to be done in the hope of preserving true liberty.
So, my friends, it is a sad evening. But somewhere on the perimeter of reality and reason looms a great reckoning. Nobody knows what form it will take; nor when it will descend upon us. But when the trumpet sounds the gates will open. And when they do, you'll want to be one of the ones welcomed inside rather than stuck trying to push camels through the eyes of needles. For them, the weight of their possessions chain them to a fiery world where they are sentenced for all eternity to a wailing and gnashing of teeth.
Over and out.
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
A Cliché Work of Staggering Mediocrity
Upon the New Year, I made a resolution to submit as many stories
to as many publications as possible. My only other New Year’s resolution in
2004 was also literary in nature. I
resolved to read as much classic literature as possible and discovered my
favorite novel of all time – The Count of Monte Cristo. Hopefully this
resolution will have a return of similar magnitude.
Those of you following me know that I completed my first
novel last summer. Crafting the final sentence was an exhilarating experience,
like the anticipation setting in just before a first date. This is it, I
thought. I had graduated from being an aspiring
novelist to an actual one. Like many
freshmen novelists, I had overestimated the exclusivity of this pool of first-time
novelists. But my story is unique, I thought. It’s fresh. It’s never been done
before. It addresses old issues in new ways and draws on new issues presented
by the zeitgeist. It’s a masterpiece that delves into the remaining undiscovered
corners of human consciousness!
And this is where I expose myself as either a heretofore
undiscovered genius or someone so clueless that the rest of my writing will
just devolve into the masturbatory drivel found only in narcissistic oases of
incompetence and irrelevance. Do I dare
write poetry in a coffee shop? Do I dare
to eat a peach? Whoa! I almost fell over the edge there. When a struggling
writer uses a T.S. Eliot quote to explain his philosophy, he’s about two
semi-colons away from requiring the services of the men in white hats.
In his book, Orthodoxy, G.K. Chesterton tells the story of being
in London with a friend who worked in publishing. An acquaintance of the
publisher – apparently a poet of sorts – sees the men and says hello before
walking on. Upon his parting, the
publisher turns to Chesterton and says: “That man will get on. He believes in
himself.” By sheer coincidence a bus
drives by with an advertisement for Hanwell, the famed asylum. Chesterton remarks: “Shall I tell you where
all the men are who believe in themselves?” He goes on to make the point that
the world is full of foolish people who believe in their talents to such a
degree they are incapable of seeing how the outside world truly perceives them.
Actors who can’t act believe in themselves, as do singers who can’t sing and
writers who can’t write.
How can one striving to be a successful writer both refuse
to give up yet also avoid such delusions? In order to keep going amidst such
disappointment, it is tempting to accept such refuge. I’ve tried hard to avoid this. Every writer
knows this is just to protect a fragile ego. But rejection only becomes toxic when
it is avoided out of fear. I’ve decided
to own my rejection. It’s humiliating
and evil but once you’ve been Stockholmed, I imagine there’s little else to
fear. It’s been said that great art requires courage. I’m not so sure. I don’t
think there is anything particularly artistic about courage or inartistic about
cowardice. But if you’re courageous in the face of rejection, you’ll keep at it
and improve; consequently increasing your odds of discovery.
As I’ve been researching avenues to publication, the term
that keeps getting thrown around is platform
– or being positioned in such a way as to be noticed by an audience. Now, I
have this blog, a Twitter feed, and a Facebook page but I have absolutely no
standing or reputation as a writer…except among friends. While I keep these
planks up to date, I have little hope of breaking out until I get my name in
print somewhere. So I purchased a copy
of the 2014 Novel and Short-Story Market and got to work.
This past weekend I sent out my third submission in two
months. Note: I mean exclusive submissions – a new story every 20 days. If I can
keep this pace up, that’s 18 submissions to 18 different publications before
the end of the year. I stand a better shot at publication with 18 submissions than
from just one novel. So far, the experience has provided some much needed
therapy. By which I mean that the publications I’ve researched – with few
exceptions – use some of the most cliché terms in the lexicon when describing
what they seek.
First, each publication – like every rejection letter I’ve seen
– uses the disclaimer that this is a very subjective business and one ought not
be discouraged by rejection. Yet, there
isn’t a single title that fails to differentiate itself as “seeking only quality
fiction of the highest caliber”. Aside from being redundant, if everyone only publishes “the best” – how come all these rags
aren’t publishing the same stuff? Also, everyone wants “fresh prose” and “nothing cliché” – I can’t
think of anything more cliché than referring to a work of prose as “fresh”. They want extraordinary literature that
“brings the characters off the page”…well, unless someone is reading my book in
a diner, it’s 1985, and there in an A-ha video, that’s not going to happen.
Secondly, many of them – more than one would think – make it
a point to say that they don’t publish mediocre work. This reveals an
intriguing paradox within the publishing world: That while admitting the
business is subjective, they use some of the most subjective terms in contexts which
assume the author knows what an editor would consider “mediocre”. And why would
any writer, regardless of the stage of their career, submit anything they’d consider
mediocre?
Hence, the title of this essay…and I’m not poking fun at
Dave Eggers. I like Dave Eggers. He can get away with humorously cocky titles because
he is a good writer; and, since he’s funny, we know it’s not from a real lack
of humility. And since his stories are also incredibly sad, we know he takes his
craft very seriously. Instead, I am poking fun at the publications who request
such things ignorant of their contradictions. The industry frowns upon new writers with
cocky attitudes, but also upon those displaying a lack of self-confidence. They
insist they only accept the best, but their rejections always encourage us to
keep trying…despite not being the best. A rejection that says, “You suck!”
would be quite refreshing in that the writer could at least be assured of its
honesty.
So here I proclaim…
(Due to the
questionable sanity of the author as indicated by his use of two semicolons and
a T.S. Eliot reference, J.H. Bernard has been committed to Hanwell Asylum to
undergo a vigorous re-education campaign. The reader will do well to view his contempt
for the publishing business as a rant befitting only a resident of Hanwell. We are
here to assure the reader that the “paradoxes” identified by Mr. Bernard are in
fact perfectly logical statements made by those of us with superior literary tastes
and intellect. And if you are incapable of understanding such statements, well...we will get to you in short order. - The Men in
White Hats)
Monday, February 10, 2014
The Nye/Ham Debate: What are Reasonable Individuals to Make of Scripture? Part III
Over the last two entries, I've made several different arguments about the balance between scientific and mythic views of the world. I'm sure there is much I missed, but there's only so much which can be explained in a few blog entries. In this, the third and final entry, I address the following subject: If the material world can only be explained by science and questions of meaning and "the good life" can only be explained through myth, what does it mean to say "God exists"? Does it mean God exists in an objective reality such as the material world but is somehow separate from it? Or does it mean God exists in myth as a symbol of goodness, and therefore only as a construct of our consciousness?
When Thomas Acquinas wrote Summa Theologica in the 13th century, he sought to provide a foundation for a belief in God using the Socratic method as outlined by Aristotle and Plato. The Catholic Church filled a substantial power void in Europe after the Fall of Rome. In the centuries that followed, Western civilization back tracked a bit in terms of knowledge. Many early figures in the Church worried about the usefulness of the pagan philosophers. Acquinas was the one who brought the philosophers of ancient Greece into the new Christian Age. His work was as much to prove the Christian worth of thinkers such as Plato and Aristotle as to suggest the likelihood of God's existence.
Ultimately, Acquinas' argument came down to a simple assertion: That everything we see in reality seems to have a cause - a bird eats fruit from a tree, then passes the seeds which fall to the ground and grow new trees. If the Universe exists as an objective reality, it follows that the Universe has a cause.
Acquinas also considered whether matter could be brought into existence. While Acquinas believed that matter was brought into existence by God, he did not see this as being integral to justifying a belief in God. Acquinas said that even if all the matter in the Universe were eternal, something had to have set it in motion. This opened the door to a new idea about creation: Not creation in terms of making something from nothing, but by arranging already present elements to bring about something else.
This is the foundation for my approach to the God question: Not that the existence of material suggests a single point of origin, but that a rather delicate balance needs to be sustained in order for life to emerge - and that an even greater delicate balance needs to be sustained in order for that life to develop consciousness. Given that most of the Universe is unadulterated chaos, it seems strange to me that there is this place we call Earth that had all the right ingredients at just the right instant to bring about, not just life, but a life bearing the intelligence to explore the unfathomable depths of the very same Universe. I find that to be a remarkable thing to consider.
To be fair, the opposing view is just as logical. Suppose that life is just some bizarre accident; that it is the product of insurmountable chaos rather than an organized system. It's entirely possible. Suddenly, the cliche of the glass being half-empty or half-full becomes quite profound. The Universe is simply too large for us to assert the degree of its chaos or orderliness. Instead, we must rely on inclination. If you're inclined to see the Universe as chaotic and life as an accident, you're likely to be an atheist. If you believe it is orderly, you probably adhere to some religious viewpoint. I happened to be inclined to see things as reflecting a kind of order. Others are inclined to see chaos.
One of the questions I get is: How do you know that life is a rare occurrence? The Universe could be boiling over with it, but because of distance and time, it's impossible to detect. Rationally speaking, this is a valid point; even if I do find it a simple-minded appeal to ignorance. Fundamentally, we have no way of knowing whether life exists beyond what we can detect. All we know is it has not yet been discovered elsewhere - at least not in any verifiable way. And since science limits itself to that which can be perceived, this claim cannot stand alongside the claim that God doesn't exist because God is beyond perception.
But there is a heretofore unresolved paradox which addresses just such a point: the Fermi Paradox. I encourage readers to follow the link. Essentially it argues that if intelligent life were common in the Universe, where is it? Over the time span of the Universe, there has been ample opportunity for intelligent lifeforms to colonize our galaxy...so, why haven't they? Interesting stuff, at least to me.
I don't intend to convert anyone to a theistic view of the Universe anymore than prove God's existence. I am the first one to admit the incredibly subjective nature of this viewpoint, so let me get to the heart of it here. If we look at the Book of Exodus where Moses talks to the burning bush, the burning bush claims to be the God of Abraham and Isaac. When Moses asks God's name, he gets the reply: Yahweh, a Hebrew word roughly translated into "I am, who am." Strange response to say the least, but if we consider the reply in the most basic linguistic sense we see that the word "am" constitutes a stative verb - or verb of being. To me, this is the same as saying: "I am existence, itself."
Think back to your earliest memories. There is something constant within you, something that has remained as it was despite all the changes you've experienced. It's your consciousness, but it's also the thing that recognizes itself as consciousness. You may have changed in physical appearance, you may have gained more knowledge about the world, you may have changed opinions - perhaps more times than once, but something within you has remained constant. That is what I perceive as the foundation of all that I am, all I've been, and all I'll ever be. Like the proverb of Buckaroo Banzai: "Where ever you go, there you are." The only way I can consider the perception of my consciousness, is by seeing it as a piece of something larger - an ultimate consciousness so powerful that existence itself would perish without it. I can only call it God.
Ultimately, Acquinas' argument came down to a simple assertion: That everything we see in reality seems to have a cause - a bird eats fruit from a tree, then passes the seeds which fall to the ground and grow new trees. If the Universe exists as an objective reality, it follows that the Universe has a cause.
Acquinas also considered whether matter could be brought into existence. While Acquinas believed that matter was brought into existence by God, he did not see this as being integral to justifying a belief in God. Acquinas said that even if all the matter in the Universe were eternal, something had to have set it in motion. This opened the door to a new idea about creation: Not creation in terms of making something from nothing, but by arranging already present elements to bring about something else.
This is the foundation for my approach to the God question: Not that the existence of material suggests a single point of origin, but that a rather delicate balance needs to be sustained in order for life to emerge - and that an even greater delicate balance needs to be sustained in order for that life to develop consciousness. Given that most of the Universe is unadulterated chaos, it seems strange to me that there is this place we call Earth that had all the right ingredients at just the right instant to bring about, not just life, but a life bearing the intelligence to explore the unfathomable depths of the very same Universe. I find that to be a remarkable thing to consider.
To be fair, the opposing view is just as logical. Suppose that life is just some bizarre accident; that it is the product of insurmountable chaos rather than an organized system. It's entirely possible. Suddenly, the cliche of the glass being half-empty or half-full becomes quite profound. The Universe is simply too large for us to assert the degree of its chaos or orderliness. Instead, we must rely on inclination. If you're inclined to see the Universe as chaotic and life as an accident, you're likely to be an atheist. If you believe it is orderly, you probably adhere to some religious viewpoint. I happened to be inclined to see things as reflecting a kind of order. Others are inclined to see chaos.
One of the questions I get is: How do you know that life is a rare occurrence? The Universe could be boiling over with it, but because of distance and time, it's impossible to detect. Rationally speaking, this is a valid point; even if I do find it a simple-minded appeal to ignorance. Fundamentally, we have no way of knowing whether life exists beyond what we can detect. All we know is it has not yet been discovered elsewhere - at least not in any verifiable way. And since science limits itself to that which can be perceived, this claim cannot stand alongside the claim that God doesn't exist because God is beyond perception.
But there is a heretofore unresolved paradox which addresses just such a point: the Fermi Paradox. I encourage readers to follow the link. Essentially it argues that if intelligent life were common in the Universe, where is it? Over the time span of the Universe, there has been ample opportunity for intelligent lifeforms to colonize our galaxy...so, why haven't they? Interesting stuff, at least to me.
I don't intend to convert anyone to a theistic view of the Universe anymore than prove God's existence. I am the first one to admit the incredibly subjective nature of this viewpoint, so let me get to the heart of it here. If we look at the Book of Exodus where Moses talks to the burning bush, the burning bush claims to be the God of Abraham and Isaac. When Moses asks God's name, he gets the reply: Yahweh, a Hebrew word roughly translated into "I am, who am." Strange response to say the least, but if we consider the reply in the most basic linguistic sense we see that the word "am" constitutes a stative verb - or verb of being. To me, this is the same as saying: "I am existence, itself."
Think back to your earliest memories. There is something constant within you, something that has remained as it was despite all the changes you've experienced. It's your consciousness, but it's also the thing that recognizes itself as consciousness. You may have changed in physical appearance, you may have gained more knowledge about the world, you may have changed opinions - perhaps more times than once, but something within you has remained constant. That is what I perceive as the foundation of all that I am, all I've been, and all I'll ever be. Like the proverb of Buckaroo Banzai: "Where ever you go, there you are." The only way I can consider the perception of my consciousness, is by seeing it as a piece of something larger - an ultimate consciousness so powerful that existence itself would perish without it. I can only call it God.
Friday, February 7, 2014
The Nye/Ham Debate: What are Reasonable Individuals to Make of Scripture? Part II
My last post was the first half of a response to the oft over-simplified debate between Theistic Creationists and Atheistic Evolutionists. The purpose was to illustrate that these views are only mutually exclusive if the Creation story is taken literally. Also, it was to present an argument that scripture need not be taken literally in order to be meaningful.
In my last post, I expressed a great deal of sympathy with Mr. Nye. I still find his argument far more compelling than Mr. Ham's, by which I mean he presented a more reasonable worldview. However, something did surprise me about Mr. Ham's argument. He touched on something at the beginning that could have improved his argument - at least, for me - but then lost it to his insistence on the literal interpretation of scripture. He started by talking about the nature of truth and how we develop our view of reality. For Mr. Ham, scripture is his primary influence.
I'd like to take a moment here to say something about myth. Today, the connotation of "myth" is equivalent with false. Can you think of a time when you heard someone refer to something as a "myth" when it didn't mean "bullshit"? In many ways this is a good thing: Storytelling holds a powerful sway over humans. It's critical for our survival in that it's usually the first way we learn something. For as long as humans possessed language, there have been stories to illustrate the consequences of actions. Stories help us avoid poor decision making. Because stories possess such power, it is possible for unscrupulous persons to use them for sinister purposes. History is full of just such villains; therefore, our modern skepticism about "myth" has done us a service in depriving these tyrants of such undeserved power.
But this freedom also has drawbacks. For one, the world has become much more complicated. So much of our day to day lives depend upon the expertise of people other than ourselves. We have many modern marvels which make life quite convenient as well as safe; but these marvels each operate from a very specialized knowledge base - meaning, outside the realm of common knowledge. We refer to those who hold such specialized knowledge as professionals. Even the knowledge of our laws - to which we are all accountable - has become specialized. The Ten Commandments may have been stringent, but at least they were simple. Human survival today depends much more critically on quantifiable expertise than on those truths which are communicable through narrative. When those of religious persuasions lament the modern world, I submit that this is what they find so troubling...and I find it hard to disagree.
So when I refer to scripture as "myth", understand I do not mean it in a pejorative sense. I simply mean its truths are narrative truths rather than the quantifiable ones to which we are so accustomed in this modern world. Where Mr. Ham makes his mistake - and it is not a disingenuous one - is that he doesn't make the necessary distinction between the two types of truth. In attempting to restore the importance of narrative truth upon society, he tries to use a narrative truth to supplant the quantifiable truths discovered by scientists over the centuries. This approach unnecessarily destroys the balance between science and religion, pitting one side against the other rather than acknowledging that each speaks to something entirely different from the other.
If scripture is myth what is the narrative truth behind it? No single person is capable of answering this question in its entirety. We've been trying to answer it for thousands of years and, I suspect, we will continue do so for thousands more. What seems clear - to me, at least - is that scripture does not aim to teach us about our physical origins, but our existential origins. Not: "How did the world come into being," but; "What does it mean to be part of it?" The Young Earth Creationists believe scripture does both because they are blinded by the prejudices of modern society which states that only quantifiable truths matter. What a bizarre irony that their rejection of modern thought in favor of scripture is actually due to the same prejudice of which they aim to cure evolutionary science!
In my previous post, I mentioned Christ's parables and suggested that Genesis is a parable too. God made Adam and Eve. God told them not to eat from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. They did...and this changed everything. What are we to make of this story? Surely not that all humans came from these two individuals, but that somehow this symbolic act represents something about human nature. Consider this debate about which I've been writing. It is fundamentally an argument about knowledge as well as it is an argument about good and evil insofar as both men are concerned with the potential harm caused by the other's view. For Mr. Ham, it's a matter of saving souls. For Mr. Nye, it's a matter of saving rational thought.
Scripture cannot speak to the scientific details of our world any more than science can speak to ethics or philosophical questions of meaning. This is not to say scripture is factually incorrect or that science is bad. It's only to say that each seeks something altogether unique. The truly remarkable thing is that our reality is so vast and complex that limiting one's view to either what can be confirmed by the senses or read in a single book among multitudes, is not only to do injustice to oneself, but is to be guilty of a most profound ingratitude for this Universe which you have the privilege of inhabiting.
In my third post on this subject, I will be writing about why evolution does not disprove the existence of God.
In my last post, I expressed a great deal of sympathy with Mr. Nye. I still find his argument far more compelling than Mr. Ham's, by which I mean he presented a more reasonable worldview. However, something did surprise me about Mr. Ham's argument. He touched on something at the beginning that could have improved his argument - at least, for me - but then lost it to his insistence on the literal interpretation of scripture. He started by talking about the nature of truth and how we develop our view of reality. For Mr. Ham, scripture is his primary influence.
I'd like to take a moment here to say something about myth. Today, the connotation of "myth" is equivalent with false. Can you think of a time when you heard someone refer to something as a "myth" when it didn't mean "bullshit"? In many ways this is a good thing: Storytelling holds a powerful sway over humans. It's critical for our survival in that it's usually the first way we learn something. For as long as humans possessed language, there have been stories to illustrate the consequences of actions. Stories help us avoid poor decision making. Because stories possess such power, it is possible for unscrupulous persons to use them for sinister purposes. History is full of just such villains; therefore, our modern skepticism about "myth" has done us a service in depriving these tyrants of such undeserved power.
But this freedom also has drawbacks. For one, the world has become much more complicated. So much of our day to day lives depend upon the expertise of people other than ourselves. We have many modern marvels which make life quite convenient as well as safe; but these marvels each operate from a very specialized knowledge base - meaning, outside the realm of common knowledge. We refer to those who hold such specialized knowledge as professionals. Even the knowledge of our laws - to which we are all accountable - has become specialized. The Ten Commandments may have been stringent, but at least they were simple. Human survival today depends much more critically on quantifiable expertise than on those truths which are communicable through narrative. When those of religious persuasions lament the modern world, I submit that this is what they find so troubling...and I find it hard to disagree.
So when I refer to scripture as "myth", understand I do not mean it in a pejorative sense. I simply mean its truths are narrative truths rather than the quantifiable ones to which we are so accustomed in this modern world. Where Mr. Ham makes his mistake - and it is not a disingenuous one - is that he doesn't make the necessary distinction between the two types of truth. In attempting to restore the importance of narrative truth upon society, he tries to use a narrative truth to supplant the quantifiable truths discovered by scientists over the centuries. This approach unnecessarily destroys the balance between science and religion, pitting one side against the other rather than acknowledging that each speaks to something entirely different from the other.
If scripture is myth what is the narrative truth behind it? No single person is capable of answering this question in its entirety. We've been trying to answer it for thousands of years and, I suspect, we will continue do so for thousands more. What seems clear - to me, at least - is that scripture does not aim to teach us about our physical origins, but our existential origins. Not: "How did the world come into being," but; "What does it mean to be part of it?" The Young Earth Creationists believe scripture does both because they are blinded by the prejudices of modern society which states that only quantifiable truths matter. What a bizarre irony that their rejection of modern thought in favor of scripture is actually due to the same prejudice of which they aim to cure evolutionary science!
In my previous post, I mentioned Christ's parables and suggested that Genesis is a parable too. God made Adam and Eve. God told them not to eat from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. They did...and this changed everything. What are we to make of this story? Surely not that all humans came from these two individuals, but that somehow this symbolic act represents something about human nature. Consider this debate about which I've been writing. It is fundamentally an argument about knowledge as well as it is an argument about good and evil insofar as both men are concerned with the potential harm caused by the other's view. For Mr. Ham, it's a matter of saving souls. For Mr. Nye, it's a matter of saving rational thought.
Scripture cannot speak to the scientific details of our world any more than science can speak to ethics or philosophical questions of meaning. This is not to say scripture is factually incorrect or that science is bad. It's only to say that each seeks something altogether unique. The truly remarkable thing is that our reality is so vast and complex that limiting one's view to either what can be confirmed by the senses or read in a single book among multitudes, is not only to do injustice to oneself, but is to be guilty of a most profound ingratitude for this Universe which you have the privilege of inhabiting.
In my third post on this subject, I will be writing about why evolution does not disprove the existence of God.
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
The Nye/Ham Debate: What are Reasonable Individuals to Make of Scripture?
Hopefully some of you have had the pleasure of watching the debate between scientist, Bill Nye, and young Earth creationist, Ken Ham. If not, you may watch it here. It's not a prerequisite to what follows, but is an insightful and thought-provoking exchange.
If you've been following my blog - particularly with respect to my C.S. Lewis fan-fiction - you've probably gotten the impression that while I share some sentiments with those of religious faith, I also reject certain assumptions of the broader faith community.
George Carlin once joked about his Catholic education saying that he and his classmates were so well-educated that by second grade most of them had lost the faith. I feel much the same way about my Catholic upbringing. I was taught to think critically and to question. I still believe in God and in the inherent dignity of every person; but I see no reason why those things cannot be taken irrespective of each other. I accept that my belief in God cannot be proven and I see no reason to compel the conversion of atheists. One's belief in such things ought not be a matter of choice or compulsion, but a natural extension of how one perceives the world. I cannot help but believe in God.
The purpose of this debate was whether the Young Earth Creationist (or YEC) worldview is viable today. Ken Ham, CEO of Answers In Genesis, argued for the resolution and Bill Nye, "the Science Guy", against it. I do not intend to repeat the debate here, merely to present a perspective that is often lost in the false choice between Theistic Creationism and Atheistic Evolution. To be fair, Mr. Nye - an Atheistic Evolutionist - addressed this when he pointed out that there are billions of religious people in the world who also acknowledge evolution. While I appreciate that, there's still an impression among adherents to both views that they are irreconcilable. Therefore, it is appropriate to consider what relationship - if any - exists between scripture and the evidence.
So, what is scripture? At its most obvious layer, scripture constitutes a series of writings compiled over thousands of years which appears to say something about who we are, how we got here, and why we are here. In short, it's an origin story. I'm referring here to the book commonly known in the Western world as "The Bible" including both Old and New Testaments. Now, there are several different translations and versions of this text; but across all of those different versions there are some basic points which remain true to all of them: all say that God created the world in six days, that Adam and Eve were the first humans and their sin brought evil into the world, that God caused a great flood and commanded Noah to build an arc so that only he, his family, and two of every living creature would survive, and that God sent his son, Jesus, to save us from sin. I choose these four points because these were the ones upon which Mr. Ham focused in his argument. In my terms, they are: Creation, the Fall, the Flood, and Salvation.
Let us begin with Creation. The YECs take this section literally. God literally made everything in six 24-hour days approximately 6,000 years ago. If this is true, the world should be full of evidence reinforcing this view and devoid of evidence suggesting otherwise. But this is not the case. Even if one grants legitimacy to all of the evidence YECs claim support their Creation story, it pails in comparison to the mountains of evidence suggesting the Earth is closer to 4.5 billion years old. When asked to explain the inconsistencies between their evidence and that of mainstream science, YECs point to scripture as the source of this evidence rather than merely the source of the claim. Here we need to make something clear about logic: Just as one cannot use a word to define itself, neither can one use the source of a claim as evidence in support of it.
Next is the Fall and the Flood. Adam and Eve disobeyed God and by doing so brought sin into the world. Up until this moment, the world was perfect. With sin's entry into the world, it became flawed. It became so flawed that generations later, God had to wipe out all life on the planet with a massive flood. Now, to take the story literally up until this point is to believe in the actuality of all of these events. For example, there's this question of "the world". What does it mean? To us, in this time, it could mean several different things. Did God just create the Earth or the entire Universe? In which case, the terms "world" and "universe" become synonymous. In this context, does "world" mean the entire Earth? When someone says "world" today, I think of the planet, Earth. But just a few hundred years ago, the term "world" carried a connotation much closer to "region"; as in there was the Western World (Europe) and the Eastern World (Asia).
In order to give scripture the benefit of the doubt I am going to assume the latter definition for "world" meaning region. Now, in this case we can somewhat support the notion that a great flood once occurred in the region now known as the Middle East. Meaning there are extra-scriptural accounts - possibly contemporary with scripture - attesting to a massive flood in the region. The Epic of Gilgamesh, corroborates such a flood near ancient Babylon. Was there a massive flood in the Middle East? I can't say for sure, but I'm willing to accept the possibility based on these two independent sources.
But here we see a problem inherent in literal interpretations of ancient texts. Translation issues aside, the meanings of words change with time. When the King James Bible was written a few hundred years ago, the term "world" already possessed a meaning closer to "entire planet" than simply "region". Suddenly, what could have been a true-ish narrative history is now utterly preposterous. We know this because we have living trees on this planet which predate the flood, yet managed to survive it. Unfortunately, this fact means little to Ken Ham who insists that "the world" means the entire Earth and that Noah's Flood covered all of it.
Next, let's get to the most controversial topic - the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. The controversy about Christ is not whether he existed - there's as much documentary evidence to support his existence as there is Socrates'. The question is whether he was sent by God to save us from the sin of Adam and Eve. Even this, I will grant. I will grant that Jesus was, in fact, the Son of God sent to save us from sin. The question that follows is: how did Jesus save us? Well, He taught us. He taught us the importance of compassion, the importance of faith, that we are not to judge others, and He taught us about peace. How?By telling stories. Now if we accept that Christ - the Son of God and our savior - accomplished this by telling us stories: Why wouldn't God have instructed us in the same manner in the stories of the Old Testament?
Nobody ever questions the literal truth of the parable of the Mustard Seed, the Good Samaritan, or the Prodigal Son. Why not? Because to focus on this would be to miss the point and do so obtusely. I submit to you that if we accept scripture as the word of God, that Jesus is our savior who taught us through stories, and that whether or not these stories occurred literally is irrelevant: Why would a Christian insist that the stories of Creation, the Fall, and the Flood must be taken literally?
Thank you for reading. In my next post, I will consider what the stories of Creation, the Fall, and the Flood tell us if not a literal truth about the origins of humanity. I encourage readers to leave comments and turn this into a discussion.
If you've been following my blog - particularly with respect to my C.S. Lewis fan-fiction - you've probably gotten the impression that while I share some sentiments with those of religious faith, I also reject certain assumptions of the broader faith community.
George Carlin once joked about his Catholic education saying that he and his classmates were so well-educated that by second grade most of them had lost the faith. I feel much the same way about my Catholic upbringing. I was taught to think critically and to question. I still believe in God and in the inherent dignity of every person; but I see no reason why those things cannot be taken irrespective of each other. I accept that my belief in God cannot be proven and I see no reason to compel the conversion of atheists. One's belief in such things ought not be a matter of choice or compulsion, but a natural extension of how one perceives the world. I cannot help but believe in God.
The purpose of this debate was whether the Young Earth Creationist (or YEC) worldview is viable today. Ken Ham, CEO of Answers In Genesis, argued for the resolution and Bill Nye, "the Science Guy", against it. I do not intend to repeat the debate here, merely to present a perspective that is often lost in the false choice between Theistic Creationism and Atheistic Evolution. To be fair, Mr. Nye - an Atheistic Evolutionist - addressed this when he pointed out that there are billions of religious people in the world who also acknowledge evolution. While I appreciate that, there's still an impression among adherents to both views that they are irreconcilable. Therefore, it is appropriate to consider what relationship - if any - exists between scripture and the evidence.
So, what is scripture? At its most obvious layer, scripture constitutes a series of writings compiled over thousands of years which appears to say something about who we are, how we got here, and why we are here. In short, it's an origin story. I'm referring here to the book commonly known in the Western world as "The Bible" including both Old and New Testaments. Now, there are several different translations and versions of this text; but across all of those different versions there are some basic points which remain true to all of them: all say that God created the world in six days, that Adam and Eve were the first humans and their sin brought evil into the world, that God caused a great flood and commanded Noah to build an arc so that only he, his family, and two of every living creature would survive, and that God sent his son, Jesus, to save us from sin. I choose these four points because these were the ones upon which Mr. Ham focused in his argument. In my terms, they are: Creation, the Fall, the Flood, and Salvation.
Let us begin with Creation. The YECs take this section literally. God literally made everything in six 24-hour days approximately 6,000 years ago. If this is true, the world should be full of evidence reinforcing this view and devoid of evidence suggesting otherwise. But this is not the case. Even if one grants legitimacy to all of the evidence YECs claim support their Creation story, it pails in comparison to the mountains of evidence suggesting the Earth is closer to 4.5 billion years old. When asked to explain the inconsistencies between their evidence and that of mainstream science, YECs point to scripture as the source of this evidence rather than merely the source of the claim. Here we need to make something clear about logic: Just as one cannot use a word to define itself, neither can one use the source of a claim as evidence in support of it.
Next is the Fall and the Flood. Adam and Eve disobeyed God and by doing so brought sin into the world. Up until this moment, the world was perfect. With sin's entry into the world, it became flawed. It became so flawed that generations later, God had to wipe out all life on the planet with a massive flood. Now, to take the story literally up until this point is to believe in the actuality of all of these events. For example, there's this question of "the world". What does it mean? To us, in this time, it could mean several different things. Did God just create the Earth or the entire Universe? In which case, the terms "world" and "universe" become synonymous. In this context, does "world" mean the entire Earth? When someone says "world" today, I think of the planet, Earth. But just a few hundred years ago, the term "world" carried a connotation much closer to "region"; as in there was the Western World (Europe) and the Eastern World (Asia).
In order to give scripture the benefit of the doubt I am going to assume the latter definition for "world" meaning region. Now, in this case we can somewhat support the notion that a great flood once occurred in the region now known as the Middle East. Meaning there are extra-scriptural accounts - possibly contemporary with scripture - attesting to a massive flood in the region. The Epic of Gilgamesh, corroborates such a flood near ancient Babylon. Was there a massive flood in the Middle East? I can't say for sure, but I'm willing to accept the possibility based on these two independent sources.
But here we see a problem inherent in literal interpretations of ancient texts. Translation issues aside, the meanings of words change with time. When the King James Bible was written a few hundred years ago, the term "world" already possessed a meaning closer to "entire planet" than simply "region". Suddenly, what could have been a true-ish narrative history is now utterly preposterous. We know this because we have living trees on this planet which predate the flood, yet managed to survive it. Unfortunately, this fact means little to Ken Ham who insists that "the world" means the entire Earth and that Noah's Flood covered all of it.
Next, let's get to the most controversial topic - the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. The controversy about Christ is not whether he existed - there's as much documentary evidence to support his existence as there is Socrates'. The question is whether he was sent by God to save us from the sin of Adam and Eve. Even this, I will grant. I will grant that Jesus was, in fact, the Son of God sent to save us from sin. The question that follows is: how did Jesus save us? Well, He taught us. He taught us the importance of compassion, the importance of faith, that we are not to judge others, and He taught us about peace. How?By telling stories. Now if we accept that Christ - the Son of God and our savior - accomplished this by telling us stories: Why wouldn't God have instructed us in the same manner in the stories of the Old Testament?
Nobody ever questions the literal truth of the parable of the Mustard Seed, the Good Samaritan, or the Prodigal Son. Why not? Because to focus on this would be to miss the point and do so obtusely. I submit to you that if we accept scripture as the word of God, that Jesus is our savior who taught us through stories, and that whether or not these stories occurred literally is irrelevant: Why would a Christian insist that the stories of Creation, the Fall, and the Flood must be taken literally?
Thank you for reading. In my next post, I will consider what the stories of Creation, the Fall, and the Flood tell us if not a literal truth about the origins of humanity. I encourage readers to leave comments and turn this into a discussion.
Monday, February 3, 2014
A Brush with Philip Seymour Hoffman on Second Street
It was the summer of 2000. I was working for a gourmet grocery store on South Street in Philadelphia. This was part of my routine in college. I'd go to school during the school year, then work full time during the summer to make enough money to go back in the Fall. This summer was particularly memorable for several reasons: I delivered a catering order to a party at the home of then 76ers head coach, Larry Brown. Briefly met Dave Matthews backstage after a concert. And the Republican Party held their convention in the city where our country was founded.
It was also the year I met Philip Seymour Hoffman.
It was the same week the RNC was in town to nominate George W. Bush to be their candidate for President. The grocery where I worked was near the corner of Second and South Streets. During breaks, employees would often walk down Second Street to sit in a type of urban gazebo shaded by trees.
It should be said that at the time I had recently seen both Magnolia and Boogie Nights. I found Magnolia long and pretentious but found John C. Reilly quite likable. I enjoyed Boogie Nights much more and found it both funny and sad...and John C. Reilly was quite likable in that as well. But the most poignant parts of Boogie Nights for me were the interactions of the characters played by Mark Wahlberg and Mr. Hoffman.
If you haven't seen it, Hoffman plays a sound guy for a pornographic film studio run by Burt Reynolds. He's shy, unsure of himself, wears clothes that don't fit, and is clumsy especially around Mark Wahlberg's character - Dirk Diggler - for whom he's acquired an immense and unrequited affection. Watching the film, one isn't sure if Hoffman's character has romantic feelings for Dirk or if he's just so socially inept that he cannot differentiate friendly from romantic affection. There's a certain pity one feels for Hoffman's character as well as humor. You laugh at him, but do so out of this rush of empathetic embarrassment. You're not really laughing at him. It's more like you're laughing at yourself as if you were making the same mistakes in the same setting.
This tension comes to a point of climactic humiliation when Hoffman's character decides to express his affection by kissing Dirk full on the lips. It is not returned and Dirk scolds him for the impasse but Hoffman just replies: "Please. Please can I kiss you on the mouth?" Dirk runs off. I laugh at the Laurel & Hardy-esque farce before me; but it ceased upon seeing Hoffman sitting there alone in his car sobbing, saying over and over again: "I'm a fucking idiot." My laughter turned to sadness, then to embarrassment, then to shame for being so cruel as to laugh at this person in such pain. In those few seconds, this socially awkward character reveals to us the truth about who he is - a lost and lonely soul so desperate for human contact that he mistakes casual affection for intimate affection.
We've all faced awkward moments in life where we've done something we wish we could immediately take back. In such moments, regret comes on so quickly that it almost seems like we could erase it if we really tried, but the more we try, the more that moment slips away into a stone-like permanence. One of the things that distinguished Mr. Hoffman for me was his ability to harness such a complicated emotion and brush it on a canvass with apparent effortlessness. I've never experienced an actor with such an ability to convey all the tiny nuances of shame and humiliation. Everybody's felt this - I've felt this - but I could never consciously portray it outwardly.
This one day on Second Street, I was walking to my usual spot for break. It was the week of the RNC and news people were everywhere with their lanyards and cell phones. I bumped into a chubby guy on the crowded sidewalk and saw his lanyard with some sort of laminated identification hanging from it. At first, I thought: Fucking douchebag not paying attention. Then, I heard the most sincere baritone apology ever: "Oh, so sorry."
Truth is, the collision was probably my fault. I looked up and said: "No problem." I recognized him immediately but, at the time, the name: Philip Seymour Hoffman meant nothing to me. To me, he was just the goofy boom mic operator from Boogie Nights. "Oh my God! It's you," he smiled and looked down shyly as if nodding. This must be a reflex celebrities develop once they become known. I screamed: "You're uh, you're uh, can I kiss you on the mouth!"
The people around us looked at me strangely. But he chuckled. He knew what I meant. He knew it wasn't to be taken literally. "Yes, yes, Boogie Nights," he said and shook my hand. It was one of those moments I wish I could erase. One of those feelings of embarrassment he could have portrayed so easily. But instead of just laughing at my embarrassment he saved me from it by acknowledging who he was and how I was trying to connect with him.
I went and had lunch at my spot as he stood there on Second Street talking to a group that appeared to be a film crew. Because I'm the type who inflicts anxiety on myself, I obsessed over: Oh my God, what if he didn't recognize the line? He's been in so many movies, Boogie Nights was so long ago? But I could rest in the reality that he did know what I meant even if I expressed it poorly. He was quite kind to save me from embarrassment and maybe any other celebrity would've done the same, but it seemed like he was being more than polite. He was being sympathetic.
I learned later he was filming his documentary, The Party's Over, about the blurring boundaries between the interests represented by our two political parties. A worry which seems inconceivable now, 14 years later but was quite real as we closed out the 20th century. I still have yet to see it.
I would go on to admire his work knowing the name, Philip Seymour Hoffman. From a gambling addicted bank president in Owning Mahowny, his Oscar winning performance as Truman Capote, to his sympathetic portrayal of Andy the despicable manipulative son in Before the Devil Knows You're Dead - he has shown such tremendous range. Unfortunately, we will never know how much further he could have gone in his career. I'm hearing rumors of a heroin overdose and sincerely hope them to be proven wrong. I'd hate to think that he was subject to the kind of pain which leads to opiate abuse. I didn't know Mr. Hoffman outside of his work, or that sunny afternoon on Second Street but I am ever grateful for what I was able to learn from him about being human...and the fact that he didn't let me look like a fucking idiot there on Second Street.
It was also the year I met Philip Seymour Hoffman.
It was the same week the RNC was in town to nominate George W. Bush to be their candidate for President. The grocery where I worked was near the corner of Second and South Streets. During breaks, employees would often walk down Second Street to sit in a type of urban gazebo shaded by trees.
It should be said that at the time I had recently seen both Magnolia and Boogie Nights. I found Magnolia long and pretentious but found John C. Reilly quite likable. I enjoyed Boogie Nights much more and found it both funny and sad...and John C. Reilly was quite likable in that as well. But the most poignant parts of Boogie Nights for me were the interactions of the characters played by Mark Wahlberg and Mr. Hoffman.
If you haven't seen it, Hoffman plays a sound guy for a pornographic film studio run by Burt Reynolds. He's shy, unsure of himself, wears clothes that don't fit, and is clumsy especially around Mark Wahlberg's character - Dirk Diggler - for whom he's acquired an immense and unrequited affection. Watching the film, one isn't sure if Hoffman's character has romantic feelings for Dirk or if he's just so socially inept that he cannot differentiate friendly from romantic affection. There's a certain pity one feels for Hoffman's character as well as humor. You laugh at him, but do so out of this rush of empathetic embarrassment. You're not really laughing at him. It's more like you're laughing at yourself as if you were making the same mistakes in the same setting.
This tension comes to a point of climactic humiliation when Hoffman's character decides to express his affection by kissing Dirk full on the lips. It is not returned and Dirk scolds him for the impasse but Hoffman just replies: "Please. Please can I kiss you on the mouth?" Dirk runs off. I laugh at the Laurel & Hardy-esque farce before me; but it ceased upon seeing Hoffman sitting there alone in his car sobbing, saying over and over again: "I'm a fucking idiot." My laughter turned to sadness, then to embarrassment, then to shame for being so cruel as to laugh at this person in such pain. In those few seconds, this socially awkward character reveals to us the truth about who he is - a lost and lonely soul so desperate for human contact that he mistakes casual affection for intimate affection.
We've all faced awkward moments in life where we've done something we wish we could immediately take back. In such moments, regret comes on so quickly that it almost seems like we could erase it if we really tried, but the more we try, the more that moment slips away into a stone-like permanence. One of the things that distinguished Mr. Hoffman for me was his ability to harness such a complicated emotion and brush it on a canvass with apparent effortlessness. I've never experienced an actor with such an ability to convey all the tiny nuances of shame and humiliation. Everybody's felt this - I've felt this - but I could never consciously portray it outwardly.
This one day on Second Street, I was walking to my usual spot for break. It was the week of the RNC and news people were everywhere with their lanyards and cell phones. I bumped into a chubby guy on the crowded sidewalk and saw his lanyard with some sort of laminated identification hanging from it. At first, I thought: Fucking douchebag not paying attention. Then, I heard the most sincere baritone apology ever: "Oh, so sorry."
Truth is, the collision was probably my fault. I looked up and said: "No problem." I recognized him immediately but, at the time, the name: Philip Seymour Hoffman meant nothing to me. To me, he was just the goofy boom mic operator from Boogie Nights. "Oh my God! It's you," he smiled and looked down shyly as if nodding. This must be a reflex celebrities develop once they become known. I screamed: "You're uh, you're uh, can I kiss you on the mouth!"
The people around us looked at me strangely. But he chuckled. He knew what I meant. He knew it wasn't to be taken literally. "Yes, yes, Boogie Nights," he said and shook my hand. It was one of those moments I wish I could erase. One of those feelings of embarrassment he could have portrayed so easily. But instead of just laughing at my embarrassment he saved me from it by acknowledging who he was and how I was trying to connect with him.
I went and had lunch at my spot as he stood there on Second Street talking to a group that appeared to be a film crew. Because I'm the type who inflicts anxiety on myself, I obsessed over: Oh my God, what if he didn't recognize the line? He's been in so many movies, Boogie Nights was so long ago? But I could rest in the reality that he did know what I meant even if I expressed it poorly. He was quite kind to save me from embarrassment and maybe any other celebrity would've done the same, but it seemed like he was being more than polite. He was being sympathetic.
I learned later he was filming his documentary, The Party's Over, about the blurring boundaries between the interests represented by our two political parties. A worry which seems inconceivable now, 14 years later but was quite real as we closed out the 20th century. I still have yet to see it.
I would go on to admire his work knowing the name, Philip Seymour Hoffman. From a gambling addicted bank president in Owning Mahowny, his Oscar winning performance as Truman Capote, to his sympathetic portrayal of Andy the despicable manipulative son in Before the Devil Knows You're Dead - he has shown such tremendous range. Unfortunately, we will never know how much further he could have gone in his career. I'm hearing rumors of a heroin overdose and sincerely hope them to be proven wrong. I'd hate to think that he was subject to the kind of pain which leads to opiate abuse. I didn't know Mr. Hoffman outside of his work, or that sunny afternoon on Second Street but I am ever grateful for what I was able to learn from him about being human...and the fact that he didn't let me look like a fucking idiot there on Second Street.
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