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Wheresoever We May Roam
Saturday, August 15th, 2009 | Author: Moody
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Consider the warmth of the body in the chill of the night. Self-contained, a furnace; heat, the presence of life. We glow in the infrared. Our coupling makes us glow the brighter, and we appear to merge with one another. The backdrop for this is the cold eternity of interstellar space. This backdrop is the unknown. It is not unknowable, but it is far too great to comprehend in its entirety. Wheresoever we may roam in this universe, which has no boundary, it shall be as the center of it all.

Wherever you go, there you are.

But who are we? What is our history? What is our path, and how has it been determined? From protean, simplest life, we arose. In infinitesimal increments, by accident and, eventually, by intentional effort, by hook and by crook even, we found ourselves standing. Here. On the good earth. On the cruel ground. On this indifferent planet. And we proclaimed our will and ourselves in tools, in rituals of birth and burial, in artistic representation. We found our meaning in these things, and by these things we created a different world, a symbolic world. In our symbols we cached our sense of reality, found ways to communicate more and more complex ideas. History unfurled slowly until, at last, we began to map its roiling undulations, to illuminate (though still but dimly) that which forever falls away behind us.

After some 13.5+ billions of years, I, who have but one life that has endured so far for approximately 1/313,953,488th of the universe’s timeline,—I wrote:

I really do love the world. For all its pain, its sorrows and tragedy; I still love it. The full experience of being human, being alive, being conscious of this ongoing experience, is meaningful to me in a way that fills me with a sense of love. I cannot maintain such a state indefinitely; life’s pain intrudes, wounds, pulls me down at times. But even in the depths of such illness, such dis-ease as torments the mind with fear and repulsion, there is something profoundly grand about it all that makes me long for life. The worst storms pass. The worst pains end. One day, it will all be gone. And so I continue fighting for the joy, trying to find it, trying to make it, trying to share it. And I love that this is so. I don’t want “heaven”; don’t think the world is “hell”. I want this. I want the way you feel when we hug each other; want the way we feel together when we make love; want the passion of friendship more intimate than death itself. I love this world. All of it. I accept the challenge and will learn to fly without a net. And when I die I will be succored by all we shared and all I learned from you, and you, and you. It matters nothing to me that nothing follows. I love this now, and will until I’m gone forever.

This, then, is a meditation upon my human experience. It is different for everyone, and I am amazed at all the stories I come across, saddened somewhat to consider how many lives I will never even hear about. This life I have is the legacy of all that came before that had even the remotest influence on events. That I am here, who I am, could never have been predicted. The odds are, literally, astronomical. For any one of us to go back to the beginning of time and to guess where any atom would wind up, or to work backwards from now to the beginning, to predict where the atoms of our bodies came from…. It boggles the mind. And yet we can conceive of such a journey. We can turn our mind’s eye to the chance of it and grok the absurd odds of it. We are here, human, conscious; imperfect and mortal and dependent on so much for our existence. We are here, though. Present tense. For now, we exist. We have perdured as a species. The odds are that we will not do so forever. It will all pass away. But not yet.

Is that not enough on its own to shake us awake, to invigorate or refresh our passion for life, for living, to inspire us to aspire to more? From the murky depths of our prehistory our ancestors yet reach forward. Not in a teleological sense, but simply and profoundly as the impetus to live. Only, now we have the ability to define just what it means “to live”. We have the ability to define what is meaningful to us. We have the ability to order our internal representation of the world. I think it is fair to say that humankind is, by nature, the architect of its own meaning, and I think that it has been this way since the moment in our history when first we conceived the abstract idea,—that “We are here”.

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Iran
Sunday, June 21st, 2009 | Author: Moody

Neda

Neda

It is my sincerest hope that the people of Iran will find a peaceful resolution to the conflict that is tearing Iran apart. It is my sincerest wish that no-one else will lose her or his life, that no more families will be doused with the gasoline of grief and set afire by the agony of losing a loved one.

more…

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Walter Kaufmann ist mein Held
Sunday, May 24th, 2009 | Author: Moody

It does not follow that the meaning must be given from above; that life and suffering must come neatly labeled; that nothing is worth while if the world is not governed by a purpose. – Walter Kaufmann

Walter A. Kaufmann

Walter A. Kaufmann

In my late teens and for too long after I had some odd beliefs. They are irrelevant now, and here, save insofar as they led me to read at some depth the writings of Friedrich Nietzsche. I don’t think reading Nietzsche was at all a mistake. In some ways, it’s thanks to him that I recovered my self from my convictions. But there is a greater debt I owe, and that is to the one translator of Nietzsche I trusted wholeheartedly: Walter A. Kaufmann (b. 1-July-1921, d. 4-September-1980), Professor of Philosophy at Princeton. So impressed was I with his erudition and lucid prose, after reading two or three of his Nietzsche translations, and moved by his whole attitude toward philosophy and life—as I found it expressed in his prefaces and footnotes to Nietzsche’s works, and especially in his book, Nietzsche: Philosopher, Psychologist, Antichrist—that I went out and bought three more of his books.

I am currently re-reading the first of those books: Critique of Religion and Philosophy (1958), and I wanted to quote at length from the “Preface to the Princeton Paperback Edition” in the hope that you, dear reader, will perhaps be inspired, too, to seek out his works. Kaufmann is an especially vibrant philosopher, passionate, yet no less incisive for it, and he speaks to the secular humanist with a clear voice of matters oft neglected. He speaks even to the jaded, experienced adult like me, who has seen much but has not necessarily borne in mind some of the most important lessons of an otherwise thoughtful life.

Without further ado, I give you the quotation:

Detail from Rembrandts Large Self-Portrait (1652)

Detail from Rembrandt's ''Large Self-Portrait'' (1652)

Rembrandt’s “Large Self-Portrait” in the Vienna art museum cast a spell on me when I first saw it. But it spoke to me even more when I saw it again in 1962 after three weeks in Poland. In Warsaw I had virtually smelled the blood of the Jews killed there in 1943, and I had also spent an afternoon in Auschwitz. The portrait looked more powerful than ever after these experiences. Rembrandt had been twelve when the Thirty Years War began, and this painting was done four years after the devastation of Europe had ended. In those days there was no market for Rembrandt’s many self-portraits. They were not painted for clients nor with any hope of a sale. Here was integrity incarnate. But how could one pass the muster of these eyes? One has to do something for a living, especially if one has a family, but I felt that I wanted to write only in the spirit in which Rembrandt had painted himself, without regard for what might pay or advance my career. And whenever I think about the millions killed during the second World War and ask myself what I have done with the life granted to me but not to so many others, the books I have written spell some small comfort. …The aspect of [Critique of Religion and Philosophy] about which I don’t have any second thoughts at all is that I feel more than ever that humanists should be concerned less with the opinions of their peers and elders than with the challenge of Rembrandt’s eyes.

Let these words be a clarion call to make the welkin ring, and may we find in our lives the strength to answer.

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Humanitarium
Tuesday, March 10th, 2009 | Author: Moody

hu•man•i•tar•i•um noun 1a. a place in which the whole of our humanity may be viewed in a loving and compassionate manner. 1b. humanity as so viewed: with feelings of love he beheld all lives as one humanitarium.

Life is a Garden as Galaxies are Flowers

Life is a Garden as Galaxies are Flowers

One removes one’s shoes before entering, for here no artificial sole shall tread. The bare feet shall feel only the grass, the dirt, the concrete, the hard scrabble, the sand, the asphalt; the bare feet shall feel only the world as it is upon entering. Once inside, there are couches to recline on, so that one may gaze up and around at the space above. It is empty space, at first. This is important.

It’s important because one must be reminded that first there was nothing, nothingness, not-even-nothing. This emptiness represents (re-presents) the unconsciousness that came before life found conscious awareness.

The first sign of anything is a vague blur of darkness moving in darkness. Images flicker in near-infrared across the void, hardly to be perceived, more to be felt, groped at by the mind as it attempts to make sense of what it feels it’s almost seeing. There is a dim perception, a half-notion, that the movement is becoming more purposeful. Geometric structures seem to float by, losing themselves in clouds of obscurity before leaving a solid impression.

But slowly, steadily, points of light become known. One is thrilled by them, welcomes them, wants them to grow brighter, feels lighter as they slowly do just that. And as they do, they take on patterns. Or, rather, the mind begins to connect the dots, begins to see structure and form develop out of their initially haphazard appearances.

These structures are familiar to us nowadays. They are galaxies, galaxy clusters, nebulae and nurseries. Yet they are not these things. They are human beings seen from a far enough remove that seldom can an individual be made out. They are societies, peoples, tribes and kingdoms and countries.

They are beautiful.

But as this universe of humanity evolves there are scenes that also give fright. Stellar conflagrations on a massive scale: galaxies colliding with galaxies; great stars bursting and disappearing; waves of stars fading almost as soon as they have thrown their first light. Unlike the universe above, the human universe is more chaotic and events move more quickly. Also, all human stars or the remains of human stars eventually make their way to the center of the human universe. For there resides the great annihilator. All that is born is destined to eventually arrive there and disappear down the insatiable throat of the supermassive black hole: death. That is our end.

But it is known that no information can be destroyed. And as any one is pulled inexorably into the final spiral of existence, there is that which escapes (for however long, no one knows). Memories, letters, books, artwork, photographs, music, histories; we see them shed into the greater universe. There is always that which remains. And from those whose brilliance shone for a time, brighter than a billion others, others seem to gain in brightness.

One gazes at these scenes and is filled with wonder. Where terrible struggles, endured and perdured, seem in their gravity to be ineluctable tragedies beyond hope of any good outcome, yet there comes afterward a time of new building, new structuring, new activity. One sees that humanity goes on.

All that space in which humanity’s light stands out… How could it be that we would mistake it for naught? Bounded by laws yet almost boundless in potential… How could it be that we would think it pointless? As we gaze up and around at the great stage of human existence, see how we struggled into light and see how we struggle to stay alight, we see another facet of our own, personal, existence. In the dim, unknowable past there was a moment when first some ancestor of ours realized, for the very first time, that she or he existed. That sense was the most profound happening, surely. One can imagine her looking down at her own hands and flexing her fingers, turning her palm up, turning her palm down, and processing the realization that there she was, herself, alive.

In the humanitarium, these romantic thoughts may bear real fruit. Life is a struggle for existence. Life is so brief. Yet it is replete with possibilities to realize that it all matters, as much as we can make it matter. And to realize this for oneself is, in any healthy mind, the harbinger of that clarion call to help others toward that same realization. (How could one sleep unaware, child of the mountains or no?) What need must be fulfilled for us to admit that in our short lives there is nothing better or more important than bettering life for all—that it is the most worthy goal? Just look at all those stars! Look at us. See that, even rounded with a sleep, it is a beautiful pageant. Even in its sadness and tragedy, its foolishness and failures, there is an enduring, perduring, center of meaning that each successive generation lends its voices to for good or ill. Something so remarkable, so astounding as the fact that we are alive and able to see ourselves and this universe… How could I not want with all of me to give my joy to others?

And after one has arisen and walked back along the way, put back on one’s shoes and listened to the near-silent click of the doors as they close, it often occurs to one that there is no way (and no desire) to look at humanity the same way again. We are all a part of a dance that transcends us and makes us. When we are gone, it will be done, save that it likely would be carried on elsewhere by some others we know not. But there is only one humanity, and we are it.

It’s true that the analogy only goes so far, but as far as it goes it’s a good one for me. What do you think?

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The 33rd Humanist Symposium
Sunday, March 01st, 2009 | Author: Moody

“Many persons have no idea of what constitutes true happiness. It is not attained through self-gratification but through fidelity to a worthy purpose.”—Helen Keller

Mission Statement: [The] purpose of the Humanist Symposium is not primarily to criticize religious beliefs or debunk the latest superstition, but to offer and discuss a positive alternative to belief systems based on the supernatural. [From Ebonmuse.]

Welcome, friends, regulars, and first time visitors, to the 33rd Humanist Symposium! We’ve much to discuss, as ever, and only so much time in our busy lives to do so, I know. Yet it is certain that we need to take this time to peruse and pursue the topics at hand. As humanists, we are confronted with a world poised on the edge of an enormous valley whose plummeting depths are shrouded by perpetual mists and obscuring shadow. It is the Valley of Change and Interesting Times. It is also known as the Valley of Uncertainty and Potential. We all know this awesome valley from personal experience, certes, but each of us has her or his own take on it.

Here is a chance to lend an ear to what others have to say, gathered here for the nonce on this windblown overlook on the Kalends of March (a number of us wearing Darwin tee-shirts, I see), as one by one, alone or with friends, we plot our course into the future that awaits us.

The following works can serve, I think, to help us consider the topics we have to deal with, and help us to choose a path down into and through the valley.

In “Anti-atheism and anti-theism“, Faithlessgod would have us consider our attitude toward theists and how that attitude effects the ongoing dialog between believers and non-believers. Are we all supporting double standards? Does the Golden Rule still apply? How’s our footing?

Meanwhile, in “The Renaissance of Atheist Evangelism“, Ebonmuse, of Daylight Atheism, takes on the usual criticism that “atheist evangelism” is something inherently bad for atheists and the atheist cause generally. A healthy attitude is of invaluable assistance on these slopes.

Negotiating the scree with care, in “Why Evangelical Humanism?“, She Who Chatters makes a solid case for humanistic evangelism being a necessary tool for constructing a better world for all.

Ivaluthy Mahendran shares that vision. He has looked upon the hardship of the world and is ready to shout, so that the valley echoes, “I Have a Dream!!!“—it is a dream of getting through the valley.

In “The Brain, Engine of Creativity“, BlackSun expertly defends the fruits of the Enlightenment against the malaise of New-Age unreality as typified by Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love. Wishful thinking makes for an unreliable guide in dangerous places.

Down into the valley we make our way, and the paths we choose will ever require us to pay attention and to move with care. The Mystic Atheist believes we must pay attention to the old stories told in the valley by the theists. He shares his ideas in The Word of Science: A Story Still to Tell.

While over at Distiller’s Corner, Burak Bilgin considers “A Paradigm Shift for Self-Actualization“. What do we expect to make of this journey?

I humbly submit to the symposium the powerful speech given by author Haruki Murakami on the occasion of his being awarded the Jerusalem Prize for the Freedom of the Individual in Society. It is called “The Novelist in Wartime“, and it presents an admirable statement all humanists can support. Our duty as humanists is clear; our responsibility is to help, as best we may, those in danger of falling.

Russell Blackford highlights one of the constant dangers we face on our journey—the slippery slope that ends in a social pitfall—in “Geert Wilders should have been allowed into the UK“, posted at Metamagician and the Hellfire Club.

And the Examiner.com: DC Political Atheist Examiner, Paul Fidalgo, says in no uncertain terms that “The sorry excuse of offense” must go! We can’t stand still and argue about the danger of avalanches or we won’t get anywhere.

But—no offense intended—Zach Alexander really thinks we also should “pay attention to the aesthetic message our ads send, not just the literal message”, in “Ugly Atheist Buses“. Think of it as being dressed properly for the long trek; you know a well prepared hiker when you see one, right?

In “Curiosity and the ‘Shut Up, That’s Why’ Argument“, Greta Christina admonishes us to both keep up the discussion with friends and family who may not share our views, and to understand where they might differ from us in their conversational expectations. The message is clear on this journey: communication—and good, healthy, open communication at that—is a must if we are to help each other succeed.

Atheist Revolution wonders aloud about what it will take to make a more accommodating space on campus, in “Reaching Out to Atheist College Students“. How can we make the journey a little easier for those still learning to navigate the many paths of this place and time?

There are a lot of questions about this journey. There are a number of viable paths, and many more dangerous ones, and sometimes it seems that the society we live in is geared against our success. So it seems only fitting to conclude this symposium with a hopeful message, one that can lend us strength as we work on finding our way through the valley.

Tom Rees, of Epiphenom, says that a “New ARIS survey will show that US atheists/agnostics have nearly doubled since 2001″. We are not alone on this journey. This is both a reason to rejoice and a reason to consider our role in helping so many others—people who may now be embarking on an adventure that some of us have been on for some time already. I know we’re up to it.

…

A few final words. I’d like to thank Adam Lee, (Ebonmuse of Daylight Atheism), for giving me this opportunity. I really appreciate it. I’d also like to thank those who have hosted the Humanist Symposium previously—most recently, A Superfluous Ramble—and those who will be hosting it in the future—such as your next host, Atheist Revolution (on March 22nd). I feel myself to be in the best company with all of you. These symposiums are of benefit to the greater community of the world, however small and intimate they may seem, and to host one is a privilege that should always be celebrated and gratefully acknowledged.

Finally, I’d like to thank you, the readers of these posts. It feels good knowing that there are people all over the world who are interested enough in the humanist perspective to take the time to read what secular humanists have to say. I think the most important thing we need right now is an open dialog that allows for honest questions and answers. That sort of thing begins here… and in the comment sections of blogs everywhere.

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