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Sunday, December 28th, 2008 | Author: Moody

Etienne Schwarcz - Photographed by David-O.Net (CC Lic.)

Etienne Schwarcz - Photographed by David-O.Net (CC Lic.)

There are some musicians/composers whose music, relatively unknown, finds its way into a person’s life like the perfect gift. Only recently such a gift came to me. The expressionistic and/or impressionistic or postmodern music of Etienne Schwarcz is lovely, offering the range of mood and melody that finds its place virtually in any given day. It sounds, to my streetwise ears, decidedly French. There is a certain quality to the strings, horns, and piano, and to their use, that lends itself to that impression. However, Schwarcz’s compositions just as easily speak to natural and human (architectural and social) vistas I recognize around me, here in North America. In other words, his music speaks to the human experience as I have known it. For example, a track from one album, Angel, “Pleurs” (Eng., tears) evokes the idea (of tears) without ever pinning an adjective to it, leaving it to the listener to draw from it as she or he will the kind of tears the song personally invokes. I am left with the impression that all manner of tears are called, save perhaps those of anger. Angel is generally a quiet album, mostly utilizing the piano in a manner reminiscent, to me, in a number of places, of the work of Harold Budd. In keeping with postmodern standards, there are surprises along the way, diversions along sudden avenues and departures into territory hidden but a moment before. There is an inherent playfulness to many of his songs that delights the mind. Even in pieces that feel distinctly wistful or nostalgiac he finds a way to lift them from the straight and narrow definition, and in so doing expands and transcends the moment of default apprehension.

Album Cover: Angel (linked to eMusic)

Album Cover: Angel (linked to eMusic)

I was fortunate to run across Etienne Schwarcz’s work at eMusic. I don’t think I’d have run across his work if I’d not happened to be exploring the postmodern music available at eMusic and happened to give it a listen. In trying to find some useful material about the musician online for this post, I quickly discovered that even the Web has its limits. There is very little about Schwarcz online, and much of it is quite second-hand or tangential. Honestly, I should have expected that such would be the case. I know a very few people who are “fans” of postmodern music… if I can say I know any at all. I know a great many people who couldn’t name a single postmodern composer. Even so prestigious and erudite a blog as Alex Ross’s The Rest Is Noise yielded no results in my search for him.

The two albums I have of his, Angel and Le Carillon De L‘être (Eng., literally “to be the chime”), are consistently good works. But where Angel features generally shorter pieces, Le Carillon De L‘être offers a two part symphony of over a half an hour’s duration, “Symphonie Pour Une Femme Seule“, (Eng., literally “Symphony for a Woman Alone”), two shorter songs, and then another two part work, entitled “Laurie”, that lasts almost 20 minutes.

The symphony begins with, literally, striking chords. These evolve into a mellifluous space after a few transitions, and that mellifluous space yields itself to the complex and emotionally evocative. The two parts of the symphony are enchanting, spellbinding, and form a story that finds strength in a tempest and in the withstanding of a tempest. The workout given to the piano is phenomenal and potent. As a portrait of a woman alone, the listener is given the aural equivalent of an expressionistic painting of vibrant colors sometimes at odds with each other yet always cohering, always tending to the representation of the title. I would love to know the impetus for Schwarcz’s composing of this and the following pieces. It feels like both a flight of imagination and a recounting of some historical person’s being. Then again, for all I know, perhaps it is better that I do not know the particulars.

Album Cover: Le Carillon De Lêtre (linked to eMusic)

Album Cover: Le Carillon De L'être (linked to eMusic)

As a work of art, Le Carillon De L‘être caught me up in its sweep and, with the final two tracks, shook me with its force. “Laurie” is a powerful piece, beginning with tense strings and a distorted, ascending glissade (on bared piano strings, if I’m not mistaken) that yields to a haunting woodwind and another ascending glissade, and then another, until at last we reach the second part. These two tracks are different, taken together or in comparison to each other. The second half features a woman (”Laurie”?) speaking in French while strings continue to haunt and distress the background. In the foreground, with the woman’s voice, a piano plucks out the wintry threat like a cautious mouse attempting to get near a small fire. So it seems that “Laurie” echoes the initial symphony, but out of a darkness of age or isolation not known at the beginning. And it would seem that the album was destined to end with a cold, tragic sense. But in its final four minutes there is a change, as if fate had introduced something new to the scenario that would ultimately alter the anticipated dénouement.

I shall end this post with the only video I could find of Schwarcz at work. The piece is not one I have, but it is fairly representative of his sound and the quality of his composition. I hope that you enjoy it.

Sunday, December 28th, 2008 | Author: Moody

The Sleepytime Gorilla Museum opened its doors to the public in 1916, only to show them a well-managed fire. Its doors were closed shortly thereafter and remained so for the rest of the century. Almost. The last year of the 20th century found the improbable trio of words once again adorning a placard posted outside a derelict urban building, with the addendum- “No Humans Allowed.” Indeed, the awkward re-inaugural movements were witnessed by a lone banana slug (Ariolimax dolichophallus)– a suitable beginning for a group that would soon shelter Oakland California’s hindmost interpreters of Anti-Humanist literature. Their incessant travels since 2001 have brought new life to the Movement. Like their namesake and its instigators (Futurist Lala Rolo and Black-Mathematician John Kane) the new museum embraces the essential weakness of the Movement. But also like their predecessors they reject the elitism of the avant-garde in favor of a reckless populism: They are entertainers. Though not without humor, their often wide-ranging musical and theatrical choices are rarely ironic. This sincerity extends to a passionate craftsmanship…. [Source; internal links are mine.]

SGM: Grand Opening & Closing!

SGM: Grand Opening & Closing!

In the cadaverous pre-dawn of a day not so far removed from the labyrinthine alleyways of an endless night like unto those illuminated by E.A. Poe and H.P. Lovecraft, I, having spent several interminable and distended hours curbside in the company of a drunken and spavined angel drinking White Horse and ruminating over the entrails of one Lemony Snicket, who, after a series of unfortunate events, had succumbed to the ministrations of an unscrupulous succubus,—I, as I was saying, heard a song. And the song said that all the desperate people in this town were coming out. And I was afraid, not of those desperate people, no, but was afraid instead of the immediate love I felt for the song.

SGM: In Glorious Times

SGM: In Glorious Times

Imagine, if you would so kindly indulge me, mixing a liberal dose of Glenn Branca with a tender lumpling of vintage Oingo Boingo and a lunch box’s worth of Marilyn Manson. The resulting concoction—distilled by some sort of Rube Goldberg machine made mainly from human remains—would, if imbibed during a new moon from an alabaster cinerary urn, result in the frenetic composition of such a song. And to think: since that time I have heard two albums of such songs! Such songs. Such songs! Such songs…. Melodious anthems to cacophany. Unraveling tales like bags full of spiders.

Sleepytime Gorilla Museum make theater. Literate and outré, outlandish and heathenish, theirs is the work of brujos and shamans. They comfort those trapped in the suffocating elevators of bureaucratically administered atrophic mentation, and inspire the unconscious to rebel against the ego. They make the listener want to bang his or her head in the way that, as Will Smith once put it, parents just don’t understand. They remind people my age that “evil” music is fun… not that I had even momentarily forgotten.

In any case, I am no longer afraid. I have embraced the music. I know in my bones that sleep is wrong.

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Saturday, December 27th, 2008 | Author: Moody

Stories from Curious Outsiders

Stories from Curious Outsiders

hitotoki : A Narrative Map of Tokyo. (See also New York, London, Paris, Shanghai, and Sofia).

This is one of my favorite sites to visit. What you are presented with is an active Google map of the city with placemarks to identify where each story happens. You also get a few pictures that link to the various stories, as well as text links that quote a line of any given story. The layout is pleasing to the eye and straightforward.

The stories are often, I have found, amazingly well written and I always wind up feeling like I know the place a little more, in a significant way, than I did before. Mind you, I have never been to the majority of these places, yet I have gleaned from these personal recollections and anecdotes what I believe to be a genuine sense of them. This is a wonderful thing.

The site enhances our sense of the greater world “out there”, and it shows us that people are not so different from one place to another, even as it illustrates the differences that do exist.

Highly recommended.

Friday, December 26th, 2008 | Author: Moody

Winter blues are no fun. Introspection, while typically a healthy practice to maintain, can lead, especially on leaden days replete with low-lying clouds and rendered out of focus by days of cold rain, to a depressed state of mind. ‘Tis the season for SAD.

The sun has fallen southward now, the days feel truncated, the air sharper and the evening chill aggressive. This very morning, the car was covered with ice and I had to enter the car from the passenger side because the driver-side lock, where the frigid morning breeze blew by, was frozen solid. It is as if the car had been attacked overnight by Jack Frost. Ah, but that’s just Southern California near the mountains this time of year. At least it wasn’t raining today, and sunny weather is forecast (though of course: caveat emptor) with highs nearing 70° for the next several days. Bipolar weather, a staple of the winter holiday season hereabouts. It makes me a bit wonky, like there’s this constant anxiety humming in the stratosphere, like there’s this lacrimal tinge to all colors, like sleep offers cold comfort most nights that lingers in my bones and impotently aches after the passage of the sun.

I picked a fine time to read Cormac McCarthy’s The Road. I mean that without irony. The novel reminded me of what it is I have in my life, of all the good things, all the important and meaningful things. I needed that. It also helped that I’d just finished Thomas Pynchon’s Against the Day, which too had conveyed its ultimately hopeful message to my understanding. Now, as I read David Foster Wallace’s1 Infinite Jest, I find myself succeeding by feet instead of inches against the slow, disintegrative, disintegrating, miles of these—the darkest of days through which the world yearly travels in its unconscious spiral, carrying me along with it.

But I have another aid in my daily struggle: music. I succeed by feet instead of inches, and music keeps something like a spring in my step, and it helps my laces stay tied. Of especial potency here are a few albums I’ve recently obtained. These are, in no particular order:

  • Throwing Muses, eponymous release (2003)
  • Kristin Hersh, Speedbath (2007-’08)
  • Deerhunter, Microcastle/Weird Era Cont (2008)
  • Etienne Schwarcz, Le Carillon De L’être, and Angel (2008?)
  • Alvin Lucier, Music on a Long Thin Wire (1979)
  • Paul Dresher, Dark Blue Circumstance (1982-’87)

(Reviews for some of these and others are forthcoming, at least if I can make the time to write them without utterly neglecting my usual responsibilities.)

O.K., so I am being a little wishful in my thinking, and the truth is that some days I cannot rise above the weather or adequately escape the season. But I am trying. I have to try. If you have the tools at your disposal it’s kind of a shame not to utilize them, right? Music is an especially good tool in my experience for fighting against Seasonal Affective Disorder (learn more about SAD at the link). Now if only music and literature would cure the common cold! Alas….

————————————

1. The loss of David Foster Wallace was a tragedy. He was the rarest of talents, arguably on a par with Thomas Pynchon and singular in his vision. It is sad for me to think that he lived so near to me and I never got a chance to meet him. As I read Infinite Jest I come, page by page, chapter by chapter, to admire him all the more. He was as sensitive as he was intelligent, as insightful as he was funny, as charming as he was, in the Scottish sense, fey. Were I so inclined as to believe in an afterlife of any sort, I would have to say that DFW’s spirit resides in the words he committed to the eyes of his readers, where it comes to life and moves through the characters and plots of his fiction and the delightful ravelings of his essays. However plain or recherché his meaning, he made the pursuit of it, his meaning, worthwhile. If that is how he may live on for a good long time, I will be content with that.

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Sunday, December 21st, 2008 | Author: Moody

It would be nice to think that on my last day of life I’d be happy, able to look back at the events of my life and think that it all went right by the end, be able too to look at my loved ones and feel confident that their future would turn out well. Maybe it’ll be possible yet, but I have my worries and doubts about it. It is in the nature of the world that there are change and uncertainty in greater abundance than fixity and surety. Though stability may arise from chaos, chaos ultimately reclaims it.

Because I pay attention to a number of science blogs and read, often enough, about climate change, I have a strong sense that the world I will leave behind shall be one poised on the edge of, if not already falling into, a chasm of environmental—and therefore social and economic—instability. This worries me, personally, daily, continually. Now, as an atheist, I am aware that when I die I will not be worrying about anything at all, and some people might be inclined to state that I’ve no reason to worry now about what will happen after I die because it shall make no difference to me. However, I disagree.

To appreciate life is to love it, or so I have come to believe based on my experience by myself and with others. Every person I have known who has developed, for whatever reason, a sense of life as something beautiful, profound, meaningful, has expressed to me their love of it all. Though tragedy, pain, injustice and cruelty can mar the experience of life for any caring person, people seem to retain a sense of life’s value that transcends whatever would destroy it. I will not here hazard any in-depth opinions as to why that might be, but simply acknowledge it and say that, interpret it however you like, it’s normal to want one’s life and it’s natural to love the life that animates us. Is it so hard to see that such love as one feels will extend to life in general and particularly to the lives that meaningfully intersect with our own?

I care about a future I will not know, because I love and value life and especially value and love the lives of others who have been a part of mine. There is no difficulty projecting my empathy forward as far as I can imagine. So long as there is life, I hope it will prosper and know the kind of love I have known.

So, again, I worry. Far from being unconcerned with what may or may not transpire beneath the sun on this little world of ours after I am dead and gone, I feel a strong and urgent need to warn my fellows, to urge them to fight for the future of all life, to turn away from solipsistic, narcissistic, and foolishly short-sighted self-serving ways of living. I am willing even to applaud those typically myopic religious people who have recognized that they need to actively participate in ensuring the future knows a healthy planet. Even if they are only thinking about their progeny and ends, it serves us all equally well if they work toward keeping our world habitable for themselves. See, the lesson is easy: we live on one planet together and nobody’s fate is extricable from any other. Life on earth makes it as one or fails as one, however the initial disintegration happens. It does not serve anyone to rely on help from some higher power when it comes to the health of the planet. If you love and value life, you will find that you must act on your love’s behalf to take care of the life of the world.

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Thursday, November 27th, 2008 | Author: Moody

It occurs to me that, despite everything wrong in my life, I am actually quite grateful for a great many things. Culture and history aside, Thanksgiving Day can certainly be a day to reflect on the good in one’s life. Whether or not you care about why we celebrate it, it can be a day to take stock of what matters in life. For the first time in a long time I am taking care on this holiday to do just that.

I am also acutely aware that what I think of as my good fortune stands in inescapable contrast to the experiences of others. For instance, I am very grateful that I have a steady, secure job that is currently offering me overtime. Even as many people are presently wondering how on earth they’re going to find a new job since being laid off, I am enjoying a sense of permanence. The bank I work for is one that did not need any money from the recent bailout, having stayed clear of the mortgage/home loan market and so having escaped the fiasco of its collapse. In fact, my department has recently added some new clients and business has gotten more brisk and robust. Also, I am working in a department with people I actually (in a general sort of way) like. And these people like me, too. So I am thankful for being fortunate right about now, but I am worried for those people whose jobs have failed them, people who are now wondering how to make ends meet without a sense of when the next steady work may be found.

As an atheist, I of course do not think that I am “blessed”, or think that “were it not for the grace of God” I’d be in some worse place. Such thinking lends itself to the idea that those who are in a worse place are there because “God” does not favor them or because they’ve somehow come to deserve their misfortune. At the very least, one would have to suppose that “God” was testing their faith or something. I don’t think that’s a healthy idea at all. What makes more sense to me is that life is hard, and the complexities of our society sometimes work out against people and sometimes for them, regardless of who they are or what they think or do. Anyway, my sense of gratitude is non-specific and unharnessed. What it means to me is that I become more conscious of myself and others as equals in the same world.

Over the last few years I’ve had plenty of opportunity to view life from both fortunate and unfortunate sides, to greater and lesser degrees. No matter what the situation, it’s given me reason to be more conscious of the world I live in and the life I have to lead. I am grateful for all the lessons I’ve had the opportunity to learn. I am especially thankful for the good others have done, and for the chances I’ve had to do good. I have learned that doing good for others is its own reward, but that I cannot always do good for others just because that’s what I want to do. I have seen, better than before, how complicated our interactions can be. But I have also seen that there are a few things that, if we are lucky, are simple and important. So I hold the door for strangers, and pick things up that others have accidentally dropped in order to give them back, and offer smiles and kind words whenever possible and appropriate. I do my best to smile at children and give people the right of way. I am thankful for the opportunity to do so because I know that it frequently leads to good feelings for everyone. It is, I think, self-evident that doing right by others is the surest way to invoke a genuinely healthy society. Being good makes the world a better place. How could anyone not see that? I am grateful that I see it so clearly.

I have also seen my partner struggle so hard to deal with her periods of illness. Her pain has touched me time and again, and I have seen her at times fight with all she has left not to give up. I am grateful for having had all the opportunities I’ve had to support her, to comfort her, to assist and aid her, even as it breaks my heart that she has suffered so much. She has done her best for me in a myriad ways. She has always striven to help me see that the better side of life is the one to focus on, that my own health flows from the side of me that empathizes with others, the side that seeks understanding and comprehension. She has done more to teach me, for myself, what a man should be than anyone else. A good man is the same as a good woman; in such light, differences of gender perspective are, in the end, simple and subtle nuances to be noted and let go of. I offer my partner what she needs, as a man, as a lover, as a friend and companion. I am thankful for my ability to love her so well. I am grateful for her love of me. I am thankful for love.

Today I want to express my gratitude for my friends as well. I am a difficult person to know at times, but my friends have accepted that about me and continue to put up with my moody silences and opinionated attitudes. They seem to find something worthwhile in me and it makes me want to bring that out more. I try harder because of them. I also try harder because I want to show them that they matter to me as well. Honestly, even if I did not personally know them I’d be rooting for them. My friends are good people. They do their best, and even when things aren’t working well for them and they feel like nothing’s going their way they are still such inherently good people. I have faith in them, that they will work things out and find their way back to the good life they deserve. When they are happy, I am happy. There are numerous people out there who I don’t know very well at all, but from what I’ve seen of them I can only hope that they find much to be joyful about in life, because they’ve certainly done good in my esteem. I cherish all you good people and am thankful for your efforts in life. Your actions inspire me to strive to do my best.

Today I want to express my gratitude to my parents. Life has been long for them, turbulent and filled with complications fit to break most people. They have learned a lot over the decades. Now, as my mother’s life draws to its inevitable conclusion, she still finds the time to express her love for me and my sibs and the life she’s had. Despite her suffering and pain, she never fails to tell me that I bring her joy and that she loves me. My father has done his best as well, and has helped me when he could ill afford it, because I am his son and he loves me. I am thankful for all they’ve done, more than I could ever say. I am humbled by their lives and the efforts they’ve made. Even in their past failures there was a kernel of the utmost integrity of character. They have been true to their world, as I’ve been to mine, as we all are. It pays to remember that the world is not perfect. There is always room to grow, and the only real crime is failing to make the effort to do just that. My parents have made that effort, and will continue to do so until they are no more. I am grateful for the example they have made. I am thankful for their love.

There is much today that I am thankful for (my full stomach, certainly, and the hard work of my partner’s mother in preparing such a sumptuous repast), and I doubt that I could put it all here in one post. From my perspective there is no inherent reason for me to be here, or to be at all. Life just is, and I have simply found myself in it. There are reasons I behave as I do, in the broad sense. Certainly, I have learned from science about the history of life on this planet, and my place on the great tree of life. Here am I, hanging out on this amazing little branch, poking out into the vast universe of existence that continues to grow and flower as we continue to grow and flower. Even as I know how I got here or, rather, how I came to be possible, there has never been another me and my experience of life is unique, even as it remains a common life in many ways. How could I not be grateful for my life? Nothing said it had to be or was destined to be or was created especially. Life is, it seems to me by its very nature, a surprising thing. I continue to be amazed, even as I come to better understand that I am alone responsible for how I deal with it. I am grateful for the opportunity to learn, to be responsible for what I learn, to accept that no one can escape that responsibility (one can only do poorly by it).

I hope that you and yours have a wonderful day, and that you find much to be thankful for.

Category: Atheism, Personal  | Tags: ,  | Comments off
Thursday, November 20th, 2008 | Author: Moody

Get Firefox!

Get Firefox!

Updated: 01/03/2009.

Firefox has been my browser of choice almost since it was introduced to the general public. One of its biggest features is the ease of installing useful add-ons that enhance or otherwise improve upon the basic functionality of the browser. Some of these add-ons, I would argue, should actually be considered necessary nowadays. Others are simply, but undeniably, useful.

Although I expect that most people visiting my site will already have installed (or dismissed for whatever reason) the add-ons listed here, it is my hope that at least a few people will find something useful that they didn’t know about. I also hope that I’ll be lucky enough to have someone visit who knows of some new, indispensible add-on that I didn’t know about! Please do feel free to make a suggestion.

(Read the list of fifteen sixteen fabulous, if not Fortean*, Firefox add-ons below the fold.)

more…

Sunday, November 16th, 2008 | Author: Moody

Today is my significant other’s birthday. I am using her birthday as occasion to write the first post here in a good long while. Really, I want to just draw a portrait of the Zeitgeist and its garments while noting that, for me, there is nothing more important today for me than my love’s birthday.

Life has never been an easy proposition for me. I’ve had trouble for most of my years. Some years have been bad enough that, to this day, I wonder how it is I survived them. This is doubly true for my partner. Yet, here we both are, living our lives as best we can, imperfectly and not always (or often) easily. We’ve been together for over seven years now. As this day commemorates the day she entered the fray, unarmed and as innocent as any newborn child, it seems to me important to note that she has come a long way from the worst of her life and has reclaimed a great deal of all that was, by force and cruelty, taken from her. I am proud of her more than I worry about her; I trust that she will only get stronger, hold her life more tenaciously, find ever more to take joy in.

The world around us in chaos. Chaos is not a bad thing, per se, but it often is troubling for those who find themselves thrown by it from the comfort of stability into the maelstrom of uncertainty. The fires recently raging in California, having claimed the homes of so many, having injured people and having seriously disrupted the lives of so very many, seem to underscore the chaos of the times. Then there’s the Prop. 8 (”Propostion Hate”) issue still unfolding. A longtime friend of mine only recently married her partner, and now there are those who’d see their marriage and the possibbility of marriage for all gay people denied on grounds that are selfish, bigoted, narrow, myopic and solely self-serving. It is the touch of chaos in people’s lives again. And then there’s the financial crisis in America, and California’s deep debt. Job loss is significant. Job scarcity a problem. Mortgages and foreclosure are topics of anxious conversations everywhere. Chaos visits us all. I’m so glad Obama won.

My partner lies across the bed, napping, an audiobook playing in her ear (I can hear it, like a cricket scratching at paper or a radio with a poor AM signal playing in the other room). I made sure she had a good birthday this year. Her mom wasn’t going to make sweet potato pie this time, which would have been a first, but I paid for the ingredients and ensured that it would get done. I couldn’t let her down, couldn’t see her let down. After more than seven years, I’ve only come to love and appreciate her more.

The light falling through the window is yellowish from all the smoke. If I look out, I can see Chihiro, my Toyota Corolla, parked in the shade of the trees. Someone recently broke into the car. The thief broke out the back window and went through the car, pulling stuff out, opening everything. All the thief took as the power cord for my iPod and the cord that connects it to my stereo. I’d taken my stereo face inside, like always, and I’d never leave my iPod in the car. Minor damage, really, but I felt violated. I got the window (and its tinting) fixed the next day and installed a car alarm. I feel safer, a little more protected from the chaos.

More recently, I was able to go out to dinner with my ex-wife. She was on her way through Southern California (where our marriage ran its course) on a roadtrip to San Francisco to see the Legendary Pink Dots play. She lives in New Mexico now. It was a really nice visit for the most part, the only real faux pas being committed by yours truly. sigh But it all turned out well, and we had a nice dinner at Real Food Daily in Santa Monica. We shared music in the car as we drove. We talked about our lives. I dropped her off at her motel and came home with this sense of my life being just so long, this long series of events, a collection of changes and adjustments, with retrospect always coming in clearest. I came home to my partner and wanted nothing more than to fall in her arms… followed by some Web surfing, of course. Chaos prowled in the distant miles.

My throat is sore and my sinues are irritable. Still, in this tiny little pocket of the world, there is peace. I wish it belonged to everyone. I’m glad that it exists at all.

Happy birthday, my love.

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Saturday, July 19th, 2008 | Author: Moody

How I wish I could claim to be surprised by the number of ignorant and stupid comments I see on “teh intarnets”–but I can’t. The ridiculously virulent form of foolishness that can reduce otherwise decent people to a manic and bellicose condition of trollishness is so widespread around here that I am more surprised when I run across an actually thoughtful, calm, intelligent (and intelligible) comment. It makes me frakkin’ sad and a wee bit pissed.

Lately, I have almost despaired over the miasma gathered about the issues of climate change and evolution. If it isn’t flat out ignorance of the facts of either subject (or both), it’s a pathetically malnourished capacity for understanding that conjures something very like it. Or it’s a pissy form of apathy. In any case, when it is not some form of apathy, there seems to be a rather fundamental dislike of genuine science on the one side, and an Ann Coulter-like support for the usual dissentient pundits on the other. Not suprisingly, those who automatically scoff at evolution or climate change typically accuse people like me of being the real fanatics, resorting to all manner of hyperbolic descriptions to describe us as, essentially, sickeningly insane and steeped in our own stratagems. They then go on, typically, to portray us as terrorists or amoral freaks whose agenda includes destroying the world that decent, moral, god-fearing, country-loving folks made or whatever. Or they simply say that we are obviously stupid. Not that both sides don’t have their low points; there’s plenty of pots and kettles, stones and glass houses, motes and planks, etc.; all the usual wanker stuff. But seriously, there are a number of strong distinctions between sides here, readily and accurately characterized by the presence of qualities such as insightfulness, integrity, honesty and forthrightness on the side of those who support the sciences, and an absence of one or more of these on the other. Take a look at the freepers and people like Michael Crichton if you’re not sure what I’m going on about. From one end of the spectrum to the other, their voices add up to a deafening, mind numbing wall of sound. It gets so that it’s very difficult for the lay person to get any idea at all of what’s simply true and what’s merely truthy.

This is a tactic of theirs, just so you know. If they can get you to stop before you start poking about, reading up, learning the facts, then they win. This is why their arguments usually devolve into ad hominem attacks or pulp fiction conspiracy theories. If they can get you to believe that what people like me are saying is equivalent to what people like them are saying–if they can so level the playing field–then they’ve all but won. They have the goal in sight once you stop looking for the truth beyond the post or comment. They have only a few steps to go in their endeavor if they can get you to think that in the end it’s all just arguments, smoke and mirrors, trivial or pointless. If you buy their shtick, you’ll walk away thinking that it’s all just a matter of opinion or, in some cases, that it’s a matter of shady politics or villainous social engineering that you should distrust out of hand.

It would appear that their shtick is potent. The sad thing is, I see a lot of people parroting the disinformation back like it’s a weaponized retort aimed at killing the bothersome dissidents who would overthrow a righteous America or patriotic “God” or some such thing.

But if you want the truth, here it is. Two issues (that are really kind of just one issue) here addressed in one rambling paragraph. OK? Listen…

First off, I don’t hate America or “God” (I am simply opposed to nationalism and theocracy as I am delusion and fanaticism). I am not a member of some occult cabal, and there is no camarilla speaking in Al Gore’s, Barack Obama’s or Henry Waxman’s ear. Richard Dawkins, PZ Myers, Sam Harris and the like do not want to eat your children or destroy morality. Secondly, that being said, a) please understand now that the world is in fact already beginning to feel the effects of global warming, a phenomenon that a great deal of evidence points to as having a man-made driver as its primary source, and know, too, that b) the theory of evolution is a robust, well-tested and open-ended attempt to explain the mechanisms of evolution–which is a real phenomenon in the world and not something that Darwin, Wallace, Huxley and many, many more esteemed scientists invented in order to supplant “God”. As for atheism (or secular humanism): it is not a religion, it is a philosophical viewpoint. Similarly, there is no “Church of Global Warming”. Finally, the scientific method is beautiful and trustworthy, and the dividends of scientific exploration are fruitful and exceedingly valuable to you, me, and everyone.

Sunday, March 02nd, 2008 | Author: Moody

Let’s try to put it as simply as possible and see if everyone can understand it, shall we?

Science has nothing to do with “God”. Science deals solely with the empirical universe as it may be observed, recorded, studied, tested, etc., utilizing whatever tools may be created to do so, as well as our innate human abilities (though educated, certainly, honed and refined). Science does not deal with anything that lies outside its purview, nor does it make statements—let alone judgments—about any such thing. Scientists, whatever their personal feelings or beliefs, whatever they might choose to express as a personal opinion, do not interject religion or philosophy into their actual work because doing so would taint the science.

The theory of evolution says nothing about whether or not “God” exists, and therefore makes no claims regarding the qualities, characteristics, or modi operandi of “God”. Should a scientist express her or his opinion regarding “God”, her or his opinion is still incapable of reflecting on her or his actual scientific research. That is because science does not deal with unfalsifiable matters (matters which cannot be tested for empirical validity), and as the existence of “God” can neither be proved nor disproved then “God” must be considered an unfalsifiable matter. This is not a shortcoming of science or the scientific method; it is a remarkable strength. Whereas endless speculation and typically unresolvable arguments over hypotheticals belong to philosophy and theology, to the realm of science belongs only that which may bear the strictly vetted tools and critically maintained rules of science.

Naturally, the tools and rules of science may be brought to bear on any subject presented as empirical, falsifiable, and subject to tests of its veracity. Even when it is resistant to change, science does not turn away from a valid avenue of discovery because it may realize a fault in some long-standing theory. If one is capable of providing some real-world credentials and a compelling outline, and if one’s presentation includes a thorough grounding in current scientific understanding, then scientists will very likely pay attention to a new idea or theory. With a few sad exceptions, only the ignorant, the crackpots, the cranks and the trolls get short shrift from the community of scientists. And where the scientific community has originally failed to recognize a valid offering, time has—thanks to members of that same community—often vindicated the one who brought that offering. But never has science found something to be a fact or valid theory that at its base was unscientific, unfalsifiable. This is not because of some conspiracy against those who don’t know the secret handshake and password, it is simply and only because science has nothing to do with that which cannot bear the application of science’s tools and rules.

Science simply means “to know”, and knowledge is subject to revision as new, empirical, falsifiable data dictates it. Certainty is measured in percentages reaching ever closer to 100%—with ever-mounting evidence, the successful passing of tests after tests, more and more data, etc.—without ever attaining it. Science ends at 100%, for there is nothing to do after that, nothing more to know. So when someone asks a scientist trained in physics specific questions about this or that facet of, say, the theory of special relativity, she or he may shrug and say, “We just don’t know yet. Isn’t it exciting!”, exhibiting in the response the main trait found in scientists everywhere: undying curiosity yoked to the perpetual drive to discover, hindered only by the frailties of the human organism.

So why is it of late that some scientists are seen to be attacking religion, and why is it that some religious people are calling the theory of evolution inherently atheistic? What’s going on? If science has nothing to say about matters outside its purview (and religion is demonstrably outside its purview), and the theories of science cannot in themselves address religion due to the unfalsifiable nature of x religion’s primary assertions (its metaphysical tropes), then how is it we are in the middle of a culture war with a sampling of scientists on one side and a bunch of very religious people on the other? Who threw the first stone?

I do not have enough time or energy to devote to writing such a history. However, A.D. White, the founder and first president of Cornell, a professor of history, did have the wherewithal to write about the subject in the last decade of the 1800s. His work, A History of the Warfare of Science with Theology in Christendom, is relevant today. By simply recounting history, White explodes the idea that somehow it was Charles Darwin’s theory of evolution that initiated the charge for some sort of godless revolution hitherto unimaginable. After discussing the early concepts of evolution “among the Chaldeans, the Hebrews, the Greeks, the Romans”, White notes some of the theological issues that arose in the 16th, 17th and 18th centuries, and concludes the second part of Chapter 1 by saying that

By the middle of the nineteenth century the whole theological theory of creation – though still preached everywhere as a matter of form – was clearly seen by all thinking men to be hopelessly lost: such strong men as Cardinal Wiseman in the Roman Church, Dean Buckland in the Anglican, and Hugh Miller in the Scottish Church, made heroic efforts to save something from it, but all to no purpose. That sturdy Teutonic and Anglo-Saxon honesty, which is the best legacy of the Middle Ages to Christendom, asserted itself in the old strongholds of theological thought, the universities. Neither the powerful logic of Bishop Butler nor the nimble reasoning of Archdeacon Paley availed. Just as the line of astronomical thinkers from Copernicus to Newton had destroyed the old astronomy, in which the earth was the centre, and the Almighty sitting above the firmament the agent in moving the heavenly bodies about it with his own hands, so now a race of biological thinkers had destroyed the old idea of a Creator minutely contriving and fashioning all animals to suit the needs and purposes of man. They had developed a system of a very different sort….

But A.D. White also believed that

In welding together into noble form, whether in the book of Genesis, or in the Psalms, or in the book of Job, or elsewhere, the great conceptions of men acting under earlier inspiration, whether in Egypt, or Chaldea, or India, or Persia, the compilers of our sacred books have given to humanity a possession ever becoming more and more precious; and modern science, in substituting a new heaven and a new earth for the old – the reign of law for the reign of caprice, and the idea of evolution for that of creation – has added and is steadily adding a new revelation divinely inspired.

As an educated and science-minded person, White believed that theology and science could be, and should be, reconciled. But he knew, too, that there could be no turning back from what science was learning of the world, that to turn back would be to turn against the flow of our better nature. To interpret scripture literally could never be more than a failure, both of the mind and—should you be so inclined—the spirit.

Those who would turn back (think of those in Florida and Kansas and elsewhere) are always the ones to throw the first stone. Scientists would rather not have to muck about in the fantasy world of creationists, but creationists won’t leave science alone. Theologians and religious leaders, religious adherents who shudder when fundamentalists cry out in public, have not truly risen to the challenge, doubtless because they fear that to do so would make their own faith look bad or sully it by proximity. This is a shame. Science, having nothing to do with religion by nature, has been made a religious issue that apparently only scientists, atheists, and a very few religious people see fit to deal with. Naturally, the scientists are accused of having an ungodly agenda, the atheists are used as proof of science’s ungodliness, and the religious people who side with science are seen as damnable liberals who are, themselves, lacking in genuine faith.

But it is in fact the creationists (and the promoters of so-called “intelligent design”) who are the problem, who create the problem, who sustain and add fuel to the problem. They do not seem to grasp that to teach someone the facts is not to indoctrinate her or him into godlessness or evil, whereas to indoctrinate someone into a religion that denies the facts is certainly a bad thing. Fundamentalism and other nonsense is not righteously religious, it’s thoroughly foolish. It may seem unfortunate to some religious people, but the onus is in fact on them to adapt to the facts or perish. The world is not the fantasy land that our ancestors often believed it was, it is something much greater and more amazing. You do not have to be godless or satanic in order to accept the facts of the world. (Cherished psalms, for instance, are not made less poetically beautiful or meaningful.) But what you have to do is give up on absurd literal interpretations of so-called sacred texts, you have to give up on certain naïve conceptions of “God”. If there is a “God”, she/he/it (or they) is much further from our oversimplified understanding than we’ve realized, and those who came before us were misled by their (understandable) ignorance. Even a hundred years ago (and, actually, quite a great many more years than that) there were people who understood that much. Science continues, in its non-theistic fashion, to prove the point. So the question is, why are so many people afraid to embrace that fact today? What is really so terrifying about an even greater universe than religions have made?

Monday, January 21st, 2008 | Author: Moody

It should be easier to explain than this.

To touch someone’s hand as you walk together through grass that reaches up past your calves to tickle that spot behind your knees. The smile that’s shared then. Not at all tentative, although you might think that’s what it is you see; boldness, actually, beneath the warm, translucent blue iris sky with its streamers of cloud like the Milky Way.

It should be easier to explain why this matters.

Not merely that, in later hours, alone, holding between both hands a hot mug of Folgers with a splash of milk and three teaspoons of sugar and one of chocolate mix — the mug sitting on your chest, on top of the blanket — you will smile up at the ceiling where the glow of the television brightens and fades across the grain. And that it will be just like the time you placed your hand over your niece’s hand as she petted the big black Lab named Chick, the first dog she’d ever touched, ever petted, in your backyard and she said “Doggy soft!” and nearly squealed with delight in that high little voice of hers, and her hand was soft and warm and animate, and her bright, clear, hazel eyes were wide as the ones you see in all those Japanese cartoons nowadays. And that it will be just like the time you brushed back your mother’s soft, gray-brown hair from her high, smooth brow and she sighed contentedly in her sleep, just before you headed off to bed with the holiday lights twinkling in reds and blues, yellows and greens, behind you, casting a warm glow from the front room and chasing your vague shadow before you toward the dimly inferred door of the room you still think of as yours even now that you’ve not been there for years. If only it was easy to explain this.

Those moments strung together like decorative lights or maybe like a cluster of tea lights on a table or china cabinet or…. Those moments blurring into minutes when there arose this sense of something eternal happening, bleeding through from some other dimension, from some unknown compass point, spilling into the now and uplifting it like an icon of joy. It’s not a matter of returning to innocence or finding love or being remade whole at last. It’s not just some confirmation of life or seal of approval from on high or anything like that. In some ways it’s achingly, stupidly sentimental.

But it’s also not that at all, because it’s like freedom and release. To briefly touch another and know, like a leaping spark of electricity, that you are both alive and there and real. To know that it’s really happening, and that all that came before is something that really happened, and that it will all go on because — look at the starlight! Look. How long did it take for it to get here? And it will be just like that, and like the time you took your first road trip all by yourself and realized that you were this autonomous agent in the world but it only mattered if you devoured as much of it as you could. And now there are all these pictures you have in various yellow and white envelopes, and all the ones in those two big photo books that you took the time to label and occasionally take out to share with someone who will try but never quite get how much the journey meant to who you are today. And it’s all such a jumble because how on earth could you ever say what it is you know it means… you know it means. How could you ever explain?

It should be easier to explain. Explain why you must weep into your pillow when it hits you just how significant it is that you were so fortunate to know that embrace, that kiss, that casual brush of a hand. How you burst! How you break into dust and scatter away like seeds to grow anew in a thousand other ways! And maybe it is that it’s simply not meant to be explained. Maybe there are some things — like rain falling on the window when you’re resting your chin on the chill, damp-feeling sill and watching the leaves just beyond the pane bounce and drip-drop the raindrops from each to each until the water is lost among the roots — that bear only silence as they happen and refuse to be captured when recounted later. Maybe it is that this sweet pain is a reward, a pointer that indicates without numbers or letters or art that you have done all right, and that you should be grateful for it, grateful to it, because it came to you for no reason other than you brought it, sui generis, to you.

Friday, January 18th, 2008 | Author: Moody
“You can’t be a rational person six days a week … and on one day of the week, go to a building, and think you’re drinking the blood of a two thousand year old space god.”—Bill Maher

Let’s make one thing clear from the outset: Whatever I might prefer, I shall have no say in whether our boy chooses of his own free will to be an atheist, a monotheist, a polytheist, a pantheist, an animist or a panpsychist. He shall become what he will. What I care about is that he is well-educated and is able to understand the difference between a scientific theory and an unscientific or non-scientific belief. That said, it follows that I want for him, regardless of his chosen belief system or lack thereof, to understand that life evolved and continues to evolve on this little blue-green planet. I want for him to understand that the theory of evolution—as set forth by Charles Darwin and others, and thence, with the gleaning of ever more data, modified by countless scientists over the next hundred-plus years—represents the ongoing efforts of a great many scientists to explain, elucidate, explicate, clarify and interpret how evolution works, and that the theory is not “just an idea” or “belief” maintained by a few dogmatic scientists as they stew in a fancifully conjured but non-existent hotbed of righteous controversy. Put another way, I do not want our boy’s developing mind to be waylaid by the twaddle, bunkum, poppycock, bullshit and ultimate drivel espoused by some very vocal ignorant twits who believe literally, like half-witted naïfs, in what the Bible (or any other so-called sacred text) says. I want the boy to have uncommon sense, the kind that comes with much education taken to heart.

When a child, not yet 10 years old, attempts to tell an “anti-evolutionist” joke but is confused when you state that the theory of evolution does not say that we “came from monkeys”, one can be fairly positive that some irresponsible adult is behind the effort. When that same child then states that “evolution isn’t real” and claims to know this because he is “a Christian”, there can be no doubt whatsoever that some ignorant and twittish adult is behind it. In the case of our boy, it is his ham-fisted biological father who is attempting, with the guidance of a domineering white trash wife, to warp his mind. It’s the sort of thing that can make you throw up a little in your mouth. I mean, his bio-dad and step-mom are the kind who have a giant “Jesus Freak” sticker (in scratchy ‘agitpop’ lettering) on the rear window of their car.

I stand firmly with Dawkins and others who state simply that the religious indoctrination of a child is child abuse. A child, however precocious, is highly unlikely to understand that there is a significant difference between what is called a scientific theory and what is called “God’s revealed [or 'living'] truth”. When a parent says that something is true, a child is likely to believe it, especially when the parent attributes that truth to an even greater parental figure in the sky who the parent worships. Children are naturally gullible and credulous. They must rely on the experienced comprehension, the seasoned understanding, of their parents. This is not a bad thing, because trust in what a parent tells you may save your life or will at least make your life easier. But for a parent to selfishly mislead a child in the name of a highly questionable fantasy is… wrong, abusive, sick. I expect, of course, to be told that raising a child as a de facto member of this or that religion is normal, natural and good; that it introduces morality, otherwise presumed absent or somehow immanently inferior without it; that it may very well save the child from eternal damnation at the hands of an all-merciful, all-forgiving, all-loving “God”. Personally, I call that supreme, unadulterated, 100% bullshit. I say that that’s exactly the kind of drivel that makes a person puke even through the angry laughter of disbelief.

You may call the process of brainwashing indoctrination normal, but you should remember that it was once considered quite “normal” to beat children (–which, I know, you “spare the rod and spoil the child” types still think it should be so considered), and to keep slaves, and to treat women like chattel and indigenous peoples like plague (often while violently forcing their religious conversion, no less). “Natural and good” are, taken together or apart, suspect from the get-go. When you define nature in creationist terms, positing a supernatural agent as the author of all nature’s laws (which said agent may break on a whim), then I must look askance at anything you might call “natural”. The same goes for your idea of what’s “good” when, according to your beliefs, “good” is whatever “God” says it is. When you can read about “God” ordering the slaughter of men, women, children, babies (born and unborn), and say that it’s “good”, for whatever reason, then I must hold your concept of “good” in contempt.

As for morality, “God” is neither required nor suggested; the word’s Latin root, mor-, simply means ‘custom’. The morality of the Bible is preserved as an historic religious record of a relatively small number of people who lived over 2000 years ago. As a book it is biased toward promoting the view of certain sects of the time while denigrating others, and has a subtle pro-Roman stance. The historicity of many of its books is dubious (where the book in question is not already utterly beyond such consideration; e.g. Genesis), and the preposterous claims liberally sprinkled throughout the pages of the books it comprises are completely undermining of any respectable assertion of Biblical authority a reasonable person might make. I would dare go so far as to say that this is true of most so-called “Holy Books” the world over.

It is, frankly, horrifically despicable to inflict upon a child the notion of damnation, to fill his or her head with images of an all-powerful “God” condemning unbelievers and failed persons to eternal torment. When you consider that one of the people threatened with this endless wailing and gnashing of teeth is one of the child’s parents…. Well, it’s sickening. How could that not be damaging to a child’s developing mind? What a din of cognitive dissonance! How could that not create an unbearable helplessness and thus necessitate a split from the parent ostracized by “God”? How could that not succeed at being isolating in terms of the child’s sense of place in the greater world? A scarring shame should be visited upon any adult so selfishly motivated (by delusion or stratagem) as to poison the healthy development of a mind. And yet it is that a great many people around this country would consider me to be in the wrong.

Some would suggest that they would only teach “God’s love”, charity and kindness, honesty and good will. They would say that those other people are simply misled. But I say bollocks to that! It’s a cop out. Unless you’ve revised your own Bible (or Koran or whatever) or otherwise bowdlerized it–which, so far as I am aware, would make you a heretic or blasphemer–then you are copping out when it comes to a) the truth of what’s in your so-called “Holy Book” and b) dealing with what it is your fellow adherents believe that book to mean. If those other people are wrong, then isn’t it up to you to prove it to them, to enlighten them, to shun them if they will not see reason? If you allow fanatics to scream their misunderstanding as if it represented your religion, as if it were the “gospel truth”, then are you not tacitly allowing that they are merely more vociferous members of your congregation who say what you will not? Are you afraid of schism? Are you afraid of drawing attention? Are you afraid… or just indolent or cowardly? If your “Holy Book” says some rotten things, shouldn’t you deal with that? If the banner of your religion stretches over twisted trolls whose sickness you deplore, shouldn’t you expel them rather than accept the degradation of your fine beliefs? Shouldn’t you be most vocal about it?

As for me, I see no saving grace in religion. I don’t care what goodness it supposedly inspires, because goodness does not come from it; from what I’ve seen, real goodness comes despite it. Real goodness may sometimes ride on the back of religion, as one might ride a mule, but it is more honorable when it walks on its own two feet, under its own power. In the case of our boy’s bio-dad and step-mom, they’d let the mule of religion trample him while they waved to “God” and whispered surreptitiously to each other about how pleasing it would be to watch their enemies burn forever. Sick delusions often have real consequences.

In the boy’s name I will fight their influence, and I will do so with my love for him.


Listening to: Leonard Bernstein & London Symphony Orchestra – The Rite of Spring: V. Games of the Rival Tribes via FoxyTunes

Monday, January 07th, 2008 | Author: Moody

And the sky tonight as the sun went down was breathtaking. Deeper and lighter purples shading into ruby and blood orange, gold spending itself in smudged powder coral, cerulean steeped in lilac and bruised rose, iron out of focus behind a damp and gossamer veil of baby’s breath. Naturally, I spent an inordinate amount of time looking into my rear view mirror, trying to take as much in as possible, as I traveled northeastward home, sometimes, surreptitiously, craning my head around to glance at the sky. Dangerous, I don’t doubt, but I didn’t really care too much if it was. The sky seemed to respond, becoming more blood and fire, more lead and ocean depth, more cruel in its beauty. I wondered if there was a volcano spewing ash somewhere, lofting ash into the sky. (In fact, Tungurahua, in Ecuador, recently erupted, but I still have no idea if that’s why the sky was so spectacular.) The light seemed to capture a still life fraught with kinetic portent.

Ahead of me the mountains lay like monstrous blue-black waves, foam capped, with fairy lights irregularly spangling their flanks. The distant view of home. I flew along in my little cockpit, the car a machine toned by its inertia, an inhabited bubble with thoughts like psychological bacteria swimming in that living space curved upon itself. The sunlight faded steadily, unstoppable in its gradual disappearance, silent as silence itself, superimposed upon by the constant whoosh-rush of my heartbeat pushing past my inner ear, upon which, superimposed, the drone of the  seemingly endless conversation on NPR, to which I no longer had any attention to pay.

Imagine me, you reader, if you care to. This falling night, here in my particular hemisphere, alone in my car, fairly floating along the inmost lane of the freeway like a blood cell caring not whither I would go, yet arriving almost certainly there. Imagine that within me there is that sunset exploding and diffusing itself across the vast plain of my heartland. And in that place are no freeways nor destinations, and light itself is called breath and wind emotion. And if you can so imagine this, then you may catch a glimpse of history unfolded like the night across the bed of the unfathomable sea of being. Nor does it matter aught, save insofar as you know it in yourself and prise the meaning from the nonce.

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