So now Reverend Terry Jones of the Dove Outreach Center in Gainesville, Florida, in his desire to prove himself as an exemplar of Christ's love, has burned a copy of the Quran. Muslim mobs are, as I am writing this, rioting in Afghanistan and probably elsewhere. A UN compound in Mazar-i-Sharif has been stormed, and rioters killed several UN workers from Sweden and Nepal.
Jones states that he is "devastated" by this, but "is not responsible for what happened."
Responsibility is an interesting subject, isn't it? Jones' claim reminds me of the day a fight broke out in class during my first year as a teacher. It turned out that a young man who was a known bully (well, known to the students -- I didn't realize it until that day) had been surreptitiously poking a classmate. The classmate was a disturbed young man with issues known to everyone (students and staff alike) regarding self-control, anger, and volatility. Without warning, the bully found himself tackled, pinned to the floor, and nearly had his eyes clawed out before I could pull the two apart.
The bully's defense? "All I did was poke him."
Please note that I am not defending the Muslim rioters; I have, on several occasions, taken serious issue with Muslim apologists calling Islam "a religion of peace," given that any time anything bad happens, Muslim mobs seem to go on the rampage and blow things up. So, let's take it as a given that the Muslim rioters bear a great deal of the responsibility.
To what extent should Reverend Jones share in the blame for what happened?
Well, let's see. "Blame" usually is doled out when you knew something bad was going to happen, and went ahead and did it anyway. Did he know that the Muslims consider burning the Quran a vile act? Yup. Did he know that if he burned the Quran, riots were likely, and people were probably going to be hurt or killed? Yup. Had he been warned not to do it? Yup. Did he go ahead and do it anyway? Yup.
Yet he still says he is "not responsible."
Interestingly, the only person in the church who has come out with an uneasy defense is Jones' son, Luke Jones. "We've not studied the Quran, but we still have an opinion," the younger Jones stated to reporters. "We're actually not educated. We're common people."
So, let me get this straight: "We're a bunch of nitwits" is an excuse? And if you don't know what you're talking about, what the hell makes you think you're entitled to have an opinion?
Okay, that looks clear enough. Jones' claim not to bear any responsibility is unadulterated horse waste, and it'd be nice if someone with some clout would make that clear to him. Not that it would be likely to make any difference; zealots never change their minds about anything. That's what being a zealot means. And, apparently, being a zealot also means never having to say you're sorry.
That's the easy one. How about some blame for President Hamid Karzai, who publicly announced what Jones had done, in order to express his "outrage" at the desecration? Without that statement, 99% of Afghans would never have known what had happened, and the Nepalis and Swedes would likely still be alive today. By the same litmus test as Reverend Jones, Karzai is also guilty.
How about the American press, who reported on what Jones had done? Same thing. It's all well and good to say "I'm just reporting on what happened." How about some consideration of the results? It would have been a fitting response to Jones and his congregation of mindless ideologues if the response from the press had been total silence. I'm all for freedom of information, but there are times when the person in question doesn't deserve one more word of coverage. (Charlie Sheen come to mind? Yeah, for me, too.) We have created a press that looks for sensationalism by our very appetite for it.
But second to the rioters, Jones himself deserves the most blame, not to mention a nice, solid kick in the ass, not that anyone's likely to give it to him. He can claim all he wants that his little publicity stunt of burning a Quran was a blow against Satan, and that he bears no responsibility for what followed. But in reality, his claim is no more reasonable than that of a man who gets mauled after poking a bear with a sharp stick, and says, "Wow. I had no idea that was going to happen."
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Steve, Steve, Jennifer, and Onesimus
A recent study of 3000 parents in Britain revealed the startling finding that twenty percent of parents regret the name they chose for their children.
It's hard to decide on a name, which probably explains the plethora of baby name books out there on the market. Parents want something that will be a source of pride for the child, and will give the child a sense of identity. (Except, apparently, in my own parents' case, as I was named after my dad, something for which I still haven't forgiven them.) But sometimes, in that search for uniqueness, parents land on a name that falls into the "It Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time" department.
Even more common names sometimes have their downsides, suggests another study, by David Figlio of Northwestern University. Figlio and his team first did phonemic studies of thousands of names, to sort them into "masculine sounding" and "feminine sounding" names. They then looked at data from schools, and came up with the amazing trend that boys given feminine-sounding names (e.g. Ashley, Shannon) were significantly more likely to cause discipline problems, and girls given masculine-sounding names (e.g. Madison, Morgan) were far less likely to choose academically rigorous courses of study.
Are names destiny? There certainly have been general shifts in naming patterns; what is popular with one generation is out in the next, which is why some names end up sounding "old fashioned." I recall a comic strip from the 1970s, depicting the typical group photo shot of a first grade class, the teacher sitting primly at the end of the first row. The caption read: "Top Row: Steve, Steve, Jennifer, Steve, Jennifer, Jennifer, Steve. Middle Row: Jennifer, Jennifer, Steve, Jennifer, Steve, Steve, Steve. Bottom Row: Jennifer, Steve, Jennifer, Jennifer, Steve, Jennifer, Steve, and Mrs. Bertha Q. Wackenhorst."
This one struck a special note for me. My grandmother's given name was Bertha Viola, and amongst her siblings were Roxzella Vandell, Orsa Osburne, Flossie Doris, Fanny Elinore, and Clarence Arnold. Thank heaven their last name was Scott; with an odd-sounding last name, any of those combinations would have been unfortunate indeed.
I find it interesting to consider why the rather harsh-sounding, mostly Germanic names that were in vogue in the late 19th century are mostly gone. These days you see few, if any, children named Hilda, Ethel, Edgar, Harold, Arthur, Gertrude, Archibald, and so on. These were amongst the most popular names during the last decades of the 1800s and the first of the 1900s, and yet by the 1950s all of them were virtually gone from the baby name books. Did parents of that era think that giving a child a strong-sounding name would be an asset in their making their way in the world? If so, that gives us an interesting insight into the worldview of turn-of-the-century America.
Some names make you wonder what the parents were thinking at the time. The parents of Chanda Lear, should, in my opinion, be kicked. I also find myself wondering why parents would choose a relatively common name and then spell it strangely. I suppose the desire is to impart a sense of uniqueness and individuality to the name, but the sheer inconvenience of it would (for me, at least) outweigh any sense of pride in having a name that has a twist in the way it's spelled. This seems to be more common with girls' names, for some reason. Naming a child Krystee, Liane (pronounced like Leanne), or Erykah -- all monikers borne by former students of mine -- just seems to be asking for a lifetime of having your name misspelled.
However, it's not always the given name that results in a cross to bear for the individual, and a humorous effect for the rest of us. Working for a registrar's office, one of my first jobs after graduating from college, I ran into transcripts for Turki Hasher, Celestina Crapp, Timothy Turnipseed, Carl Tolfree, and James Hollopeter. Family allegiance notwithstanding, I can't imagine why Cloyd Dick IV wouldn't change his name.
As I mentioned earlier, I rather dislike my own first name, but not enough to go through the hassle of changing it. But just considering what it would be like to go through life as Basile Bastard or Earless Romero (both real names, I swear) makes me unlikely to complain. And if you think things are bad now, go back in history, and you run into some truly wacky ones. My wife's ancestry boasts a woman named Albreda de Brumpton. My own includes a German dude named Poppo von Rot. A dear friend of mine descends from a Georgia plantation owner named Onesimus Futch. My son thinks this sounds like an insult. ("You... you... onesimus futch, you!!!") So, it could be worse.
A great deal worse.
It's hard to decide on a name, which probably explains the plethora of baby name books out there on the market. Parents want something that will be a source of pride for the child, and will give the child a sense of identity. (Except, apparently, in my own parents' case, as I was named after my dad, something for which I still haven't forgiven them.) But sometimes, in that search for uniqueness, parents land on a name that falls into the "It Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time" department.
Even more common names sometimes have their downsides, suggests another study, by David Figlio of Northwestern University. Figlio and his team first did phonemic studies of thousands of names, to sort them into "masculine sounding" and "feminine sounding" names. They then looked at data from schools, and came up with the amazing trend that boys given feminine-sounding names (e.g. Ashley, Shannon) were significantly more likely to cause discipline problems, and girls given masculine-sounding names (e.g. Madison, Morgan) were far less likely to choose academically rigorous courses of study.
Are names destiny? There certainly have been general shifts in naming patterns; what is popular with one generation is out in the next, which is why some names end up sounding "old fashioned." I recall a comic strip from the 1970s, depicting the typical group photo shot of a first grade class, the teacher sitting primly at the end of the first row. The caption read: "Top Row: Steve, Steve, Jennifer, Steve, Jennifer, Jennifer, Steve. Middle Row: Jennifer, Jennifer, Steve, Jennifer, Steve, Steve, Steve. Bottom Row: Jennifer, Steve, Jennifer, Jennifer, Steve, Jennifer, Steve, and Mrs. Bertha Q. Wackenhorst."
This one struck a special note for me. My grandmother's given name was Bertha Viola, and amongst her siblings were Roxzella Vandell, Orsa Osburne, Flossie Doris, Fanny Elinore, and Clarence Arnold. Thank heaven their last name was Scott; with an odd-sounding last name, any of those combinations would have been unfortunate indeed.
I find it interesting to consider why the rather harsh-sounding, mostly Germanic names that were in vogue in the late 19th century are mostly gone. These days you see few, if any, children named Hilda, Ethel, Edgar, Harold, Arthur, Gertrude, Archibald, and so on. These were amongst the most popular names during the last decades of the 1800s and the first of the 1900s, and yet by the 1950s all of them were virtually gone from the baby name books. Did parents of that era think that giving a child a strong-sounding name would be an asset in their making their way in the world? If so, that gives us an interesting insight into the worldview of turn-of-the-century America.
Some names make you wonder what the parents were thinking at the time. The parents of Chanda Lear, should, in my opinion, be kicked. I also find myself wondering why parents would choose a relatively common name and then spell it strangely. I suppose the desire is to impart a sense of uniqueness and individuality to the name, but the sheer inconvenience of it would (for me, at least) outweigh any sense of pride in having a name that has a twist in the way it's spelled. This seems to be more common with girls' names, for some reason. Naming a child Krystee, Liane (pronounced like Leanne), or Erykah -- all monikers borne by former students of mine -- just seems to be asking for a lifetime of having your name misspelled.
However, it's not always the given name that results in a cross to bear for the individual, and a humorous effect for the rest of us. Working for a registrar's office, one of my first jobs after graduating from college, I ran into transcripts for Turki Hasher, Celestina Crapp, Timothy Turnipseed, Carl Tolfree, and James Hollopeter. Family allegiance notwithstanding, I can't imagine why Cloyd Dick IV wouldn't change his name.
As I mentioned earlier, I rather dislike my own first name, but not enough to go through the hassle of changing it. But just considering what it would be like to go through life as Basile Bastard or Earless Romero (both real names, I swear) makes me unlikely to complain. And if you think things are bad now, go back in history, and you run into some truly wacky ones. My wife's ancestry boasts a woman named Albreda de Brumpton. My own includes a German dude named Poppo von Rot. A dear friend of mine descends from a Georgia plantation owner named Onesimus Futch. My son thinks this sounds like an insult. ("You... you... onesimus futch, you!!!") So, it could be worse.
A great deal worse.
Friday, April 1, 2011
The April fools
Happy April Fools' Day! In celebration of this day, famous for its silly pranks, we're gonna play a game. Below are some "news stories." Your task is to determine which one (or ones) are true, and which are inventions of my overactive imagination and mischievous sense of humor. Have fun!
1) The Doody Duty: Faced with shrinking revenues and rising costs of maintenance for sewer lines and sewage treatment plants, Mayor John Suttle of Omaha came up with a novel idea; a ten-cents-per-roll federal tax on toilet paper.
Sewer project upgrades, such as the one that Omaha is currently planning, are federal unfunded mandates, and as such, they can really harm budgeting on the city level, Suttle explained. "Cities across the country are going to be saddled with this horrific debt. I'm ready to go to battle for this."
That's one way to wipe out debt, I suppose.
2) Mars, Better Dead and Red: President of Venezuela and noted astrophysicist Hugo Chavez weighed in on the lifelessness of the Red Planet last week, speculating that life may have once existed on Mars.
Perhaps there were once great civilizations on Mars, he suggested, until "capitalism and imperialism came in and finished them off." When his comments were greeted with thunderous silence, Chavez, as always undaunted by the odd looks people give him, went on to say, "I have always said and heard that it would not be strange if this were so."
3) The Trump Card: Billionaire and GOP hopeful Donald Trump has recently joined the "birthers," a group of mostly Republican malcontents who claim that Barack Obama was not born in the United States and therefore should have been ineligible to run for the office of president.
Trump, and many birthers, have wondered why Obama doesn't just put an end to the debate by producing his birth certificate. "If somebody asked me to see my birth certificate," he boasted to Greta van Susteren of Fox News, "I could have it in their hands in an hour." The implication, of course, is that Obama doesn't have an actual US birth certificate, and therefore sidles away from the issue because he can't produce such a document.
To show how easy it is, Trump released his own birth certificate, duly issued by the Jamaica-Queens hospital where he was born. The problem is... birth certificates are only issued by the New York City Department of Health, so what he released wasn't his actual birth certificate.
"Oops," spokesmen for the Trump campaign said, when the mistake was made public, or words to that effect. "He'll release the actual one... um... just as soon as possible." After that, I'm hoping that he'll release documents that explain why his hair looks like a possum crawled onto his scalp and died.
4) Best of Both Worlds: Rock singer and noted astrophysicist Sammy Hagar reported last week that his interest in UFOs has a personal side; he is an abductee.
Twenty years ago, Hagar said, he was in California, and some aliens from another planet whisked him away.
"It was real," Hagar said, in an interview. "They were plugged into me. It was a download situation... Or they uploaded something from my brain, like an experiment."
The former lead singer of Van Halen was unclear as to why the aliens picked him, but suggested such experiences were actually quite common. He also claimed that the release of his story was in no way a publicity stunt connected with the upcoming release of his biography, Red: My Uncensored Life in Rock.
5) A Glowing Report: Right-wing columnist, shrieking harpy, and noted nuclear physicist Ann Coulter claims that the Japanese should look at the bright side; the people who have been exposed to radiation from the leakage of contaminated water at the earthquake-damaged Fukushima Nuclear Power Plant are now much less likely to get cancer.
Citing studies sponsored by the Department of Energy, scientists at the University of Pittsburgh, and scientists from an unspecified research group in Taiwan, Coulter describes the phenomenon of hormesis, in which people exposed to low levels of a toxin develop a resistance to its effects. Because of this, we shouldn't worry about the nuclear leaks in Japan.
"Every day," Coulter writes, "Americans pop multivitamins containing trace amount of zinc, magnesium, selenium, copper, manganese, chromium, molybdenum, nickel, boron -- all poisons." She also states that being that caffeine is also a poison, America drinks copious amounts of poison every day, to no apparent ill effects.
Hormesis, Coulter admits, is "hardly a settled scientific fact," but nevertheless concluded her op-ed piece by speculating that Japanese citizens near Fukushima will probably outlive us all, here in "hermetically-sealed, radiation-free America." Donations to a fund to send Coulter to Fukushima so that she can absorb some of its life-giving rays will be gratefully accepted.
Okay, ready for the answers?
They're all true! Ha! April Fools! No way am I creative enough to make all of this stuff up.
1) The Doody Duty: Faced with shrinking revenues and rising costs of maintenance for sewer lines and sewage treatment plants, Mayor John Suttle of Omaha came up with a novel idea; a ten-cents-per-roll federal tax on toilet paper.
Sewer project upgrades, such as the one that Omaha is currently planning, are federal unfunded mandates, and as such, they can really harm budgeting on the city level, Suttle explained. "Cities across the country are going to be saddled with this horrific debt. I'm ready to go to battle for this."
That's one way to wipe out debt, I suppose.
2) Mars, Better Dead and Red: President of Venezuela and noted astrophysicist Hugo Chavez weighed in on the lifelessness of the Red Planet last week, speculating that life may have once existed on Mars.
Perhaps there were once great civilizations on Mars, he suggested, until "capitalism and imperialism came in and finished them off." When his comments were greeted with thunderous silence, Chavez, as always undaunted by the odd looks people give him, went on to say, "I have always said and heard that it would not be strange if this were so."
3) The Trump Card: Billionaire and GOP hopeful Donald Trump has recently joined the "birthers," a group of mostly Republican malcontents who claim that Barack Obama was not born in the United States and therefore should have been ineligible to run for the office of president.
Trump, and many birthers, have wondered why Obama doesn't just put an end to the debate by producing his birth certificate. "If somebody asked me to see my birth certificate," he boasted to Greta van Susteren of Fox News, "I could have it in their hands in an hour." The implication, of course, is that Obama doesn't have an actual US birth certificate, and therefore sidles away from the issue because he can't produce such a document.
To show how easy it is, Trump released his own birth certificate, duly issued by the Jamaica-Queens hospital where he was born. The problem is... birth certificates are only issued by the New York City Department of Health, so what he released wasn't his actual birth certificate.
"Oops," spokesmen for the Trump campaign said, when the mistake was made public, or words to that effect. "He'll release the actual one... um... just as soon as possible." After that, I'm hoping that he'll release documents that explain why his hair looks like a possum crawled onto his scalp and died.
4) Best of Both Worlds: Rock singer and noted astrophysicist Sammy Hagar reported last week that his interest in UFOs has a personal side; he is an abductee.
Twenty years ago, Hagar said, he was in California, and some aliens from another planet whisked him away.
"It was real," Hagar said, in an interview. "They were plugged into me. It was a download situation... Or they uploaded something from my brain, like an experiment."
The former lead singer of Van Halen was unclear as to why the aliens picked him, but suggested such experiences were actually quite common. He also claimed that the release of his story was in no way a publicity stunt connected with the upcoming release of his biography, Red: My Uncensored Life in Rock.
5) A Glowing Report: Right-wing columnist, shrieking harpy, and noted nuclear physicist Ann Coulter claims that the Japanese should look at the bright side; the people who have been exposed to radiation from the leakage of contaminated water at the earthquake-damaged Fukushima Nuclear Power Plant are now much less likely to get cancer.
Citing studies sponsored by the Department of Energy, scientists at the University of Pittsburgh, and scientists from an unspecified research group in Taiwan, Coulter describes the phenomenon of hormesis, in which people exposed to low levels of a toxin develop a resistance to its effects. Because of this, we shouldn't worry about the nuclear leaks in Japan.
"Every day," Coulter writes, "Americans pop multivitamins containing trace amount of zinc, magnesium, selenium, copper, manganese, chromium, molybdenum, nickel, boron -- all poisons." She also states that being that caffeine is also a poison, America drinks copious amounts of poison every day, to no apparent ill effects.
Hormesis, Coulter admits, is "hardly a settled scientific fact," but nevertheless concluded her op-ed piece by speculating that Japanese citizens near Fukushima will probably outlive us all, here in "hermetically-sealed, radiation-free America." Donations to a fund to send Coulter to Fukushima so that she can absorb some of its life-giving rays will be gratefully accepted.
Okay, ready for the answers?
They're all true! Ha! April Fools! No way am I creative enough to make all of this stuff up.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Curious goings-on in Coventry
Most believers in an afterlife think that after death, righteous souls end up in heaven and unrighteous ones in hell, which seems straightforward enough. However, there are apparently people who believe there's a third option: if you're consigned neither to heaven nor hell, you can stick around and drive the living up a tree.
At least that's the contention of a couple who live in a rented house in Coventry, England. They claim that their house is haunted by an annoying ghost who has broken crockery, thrown about silverware, moved blinds up and down, switched lights on and off, and, on one occasion, jammed a door, trapping the couple in the house and necessitating their escape through a window. They even suspect the ghost had a role in the death of their dog, who died of injuries from falling down the stairs.
A priest who visited the house allegedly advised the couple not to stay, but blessed the house and gave the couple each a crucifix to wear. And I thought: That's the best he can do? Say a quick prayer, hand out a crucifix, and hit the road? The priest in The Exorcist stuck around even while the little girl was puking up pea soup all over the place, which I thought was pretty brave of him. In his place, I think I'd have called it quits at that point. I have a strong stomach -- I can dissect a fetal pig with one hand and eat a ham sandwich with the other, and I have no squeamishness about blood -- but when someone throws up, I generally join them.
More interesting still, a medium, called in to investigate, said the house was a portal. "It's a bus stop for spirits," she said, after touring the house. Evidently the house acts like a gateway for ghosts to get into the world of the living. This brings up a question: if ghosts can get into our world through this house, could you contact any spirit you want just by making a trip to Coventry? If so, I'd like to go there and ask my mom for some advice about making pie crust. Hers were always awesome, and mine turn out like cardboard, and I can't figure out what I'm doing wrong.
Anyhow, the couple aren't particularly excited about living in a haunted house. Me, I'd be elated. I've always wanted to go spend the night in a house that was claimed to have a ghost. You hear all these anecdotal reports, and people say things like, "When I was little we lived in this house where weird stuff kept happening! We heard noises! And cabinet doors we remembered shutting would be found open the next morning! And socks would disappear in the laundry! It must have been a ghost." Well, okay, that's one possibility. Me, I'd like to see for myself, and rule out more prosaic causes, like mice in the walls, people forgetting to shut cabinet doors, and Magical Sock Gnomes, which are definitely responsible for the sock losses amongst the members of our family.
I don't think the Coventry couple is taking in guests, however, which is kind of a shame. On the other hand, they say they have the next best thing to direct evidence: they have produced a video clip of the tricksy phantom doing his thing. The video clip, available here, shows a door swinging open, and a pink rolling chair sliding across the room. Firm proof, they claim, that the house is haunted.
Predictably, I'm skeptical. I see nothing in this clip that couldn't be done with fishing line. In fact, the chair moves more like someone pulling it with a string than it does like someone (or something) pushing it. Plus, in the clip you can distinctly hear someone clearing his throat, and I'm doubtful that ghosts would have any particular need for throat-clearing.
The whole thing, in fact, screams "hoax" to me, and my personal opinion is that the couple in the house are simply after their fifteen minutes of fame. Sad to say, but for those who believe in ghosts and were hoping for proof -- this ain't it. Aficionados of the afterlife will just have to keep looking. And I'll keep trying to get a photo of the Magical Sock Gnomes, because those things are freakin' annoying.
At least that's the contention of a couple who live in a rented house in Coventry, England. They claim that their house is haunted by an annoying ghost who has broken crockery, thrown about silverware, moved blinds up and down, switched lights on and off, and, on one occasion, jammed a door, trapping the couple in the house and necessitating their escape through a window. They even suspect the ghost had a role in the death of their dog, who died of injuries from falling down the stairs.
A priest who visited the house allegedly advised the couple not to stay, but blessed the house and gave the couple each a crucifix to wear. And I thought: That's the best he can do? Say a quick prayer, hand out a crucifix, and hit the road? The priest in The Exorcist stuck around even while the little girl was puking up pea soup all over the place, which I thought was pretty brave of him. In his place, I think I'd have called it quits at that point. I have a strong stomach -- I can dissect a fetal pig with one hand and eat a ham sandwich with the other, and I have no squeamishness about blood -- but when someone throws up, I generally join them.
More interesting still, a medium, called in to investigate, said the house was a portal. "It's a bus stop for spirits," she said, after touring the house. Evidently the house acts like a gateway for ghosts to get into the world of the living. This brings up a question: if ghosts can get into our world through this house, could you contact any spirit you want just by making a trip to Coventry? If so, I'd like to go there and ask my mom for some advice about making pie crust. Hers were always awesome, and mine turn out like cardboard, and I can't figure out what I'm doing wrong.
Anyhow, the couple aren't particularly excited about living in a haunted house. Me, I'd be elated. I've always wanted to go spend the night in a house that was claimed to have a ghost. You hear all these anecdotal reports, and people say things like, "When I was little we lived in this house where weird stuff kept happening! We heard noises! And cabinet doors we remembered shutting would be found open the next morning! And socks would disappear in the laundry! It must have been a ghost." Well, okay, that's one possibility. Me, I'd like to see for myself, and rule out more prosaic causes, like mice in the walls, people forgetting to shut cabinet doors, and Magical Sock Gnomes, which are definitely responsible for the sock losses amongst the members of our family.
I don't think the Coventry couple is taking in guests, however, which is kind of a shame. On the other hand, they say they have the next best thing to direct evidence: they have produced a video clip of the tricksy phantom doing his thing. The video clip, available here, shows a door swinging open, and a pink rolling chair sliding across the room. Firm proof, they claim, that the house is haunted.
Predictably, I'm skeptical. I see nothing in this clip that couldn't be done with fishing line. In fact, the chair moves more like someone pulling it with a string than it does like someone (or something) pushing it. Plus, in the clip you can distinctly hear someone clearing his throat, and I'm doubtful that ghosts would have any particular need for throat-clearing.
The whole thing, in fact, screams "hoax" to me, and my personal opinion is that the couple in the house are simply after their fifteen minutes of fame. Sad to say, but for those who believe in ghosts and were hoping for proof -- this ain't it. Aficionados of the afterlife will just have to keep looking. And I'll keep trying to get a photo of the Magical Sock Gnomes, because those things are freakin' annoying.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
The North Carolina billboard campaign
My question of the day is: When it comes to discussions of religion (or lack thereof), should we be obliged to refrain from criticizing other belief systems? Is criticizing another person's religion always off limits?
The whole topic comes up because of an advertising campaign by the Triangle Freethought Society and the Freedom From Religion Foundation, which has put up a dozen billboards in Raleigh, North Carolina. These billboards have images of smiling individuals, with captions like, "I'm saved... from religion! -- Curtis Clayton, Raleigh, Truck Driver... Atheist." Another says, "Free thinking moves America forward! -- Robin, Parent... Nontheist." One with the face of Chris, a Raleigh artist: "Your faith feel wrong? It's OK to leave!" And Dale, a writer and agnostic: "I write fiction. I don't believe it."
For many people, criticizing another person's religion is verboten. You can tell someone her political beliefs are wrong; you can say a guy's way of running his business sucks; you can even tell someone he dresses funny. All are, depending on how they're phrased, considered acceptable behavior. But religion, somehow, is considered outside of the realm of criticism.
Well, sometimes. It seems like Muslims these days are fair targets for a lot of folks, and there are frequent posts detailing the bloodthirstier passages in the Quran (often authored by people who conveniently forget the equally bloodthirsty passages in the Old Testament). But other than that... it seems like you can say, do, or believe almost anything, and if you say, "It's my religion," you have an automatic Get Out Of Jail Free card.
Interesting, though, that lack of religion is not accorded the same respect. Although I have many times passed billboards with religious slogans (including some fairly threatening ones, of the "The Wages Of Sin Are Death!" variety), even fairly low-key atheist billboards have resulted in a whirlwind of angry response by believers. The billboard that showed up in New Jersey last December that said, "You know it's a myth. This season, celebrate reason" was greeted by howls of anger.
Atheism, it seems, is considered critical of religion by default; which, I suppose, it is. As such, it is automatically relegated to being offensive simply by virtue of its existence. In polls, atheists rank consistently lower than other groups often targeted by discrimination -- gays, Muslims, minorities -- and in fact, in one particularly telling poll, responders said they'd vote for a convicted felon for public office before they'd vote for an atheist.
In response, most atheists are pretty quiet about it. There are exceptions -- Dawkins and Hitchens inevitably come to mind -- but most of us try to fly under the radar. I'm of the medium-loud variety -- I don't go to especial pains to hide my views, but I see no particular need to flaunt them, either. Being that I live in a small village, I expect most people figure out what I think eventually.
Some take a while, though. I was once asked, in my Critical Thinking class, what my religious views were. This was fairly late in the semester, and although I was a little surprised that my reputation hadn't preceded me, I was delighted that some of the students still hadn't figured out where I stand. My goal, in that class especially, is for students to leave without really being sure what my political and religious beliefs are, with the feeling that I prodded and questioned and needled everyone to refine their thinking.
My first question was, "Why is that relevant?" The student responded that she was simply curious and interested. I said, "I'm an atheist." And another student said, "Are you allowed to say that in school?"
At first, I though he was somehow under the impression that because we're not allowed to preach to students, or try to convert them, that we couldn't mention religion at all. But no, upon being asked to clarify, he meant atheism in particular. "Isn't that saying that other religions are wrong?" he asked.
"If you don't mind my asking," I responded to him, "what are your religious views? You don't have to answer if you would prefer not to."
He shrugged and said, "I don't mind. I'm a Methodist."
I said, "Isn't that saying that other religions are wrong?"
Then he got it.
The whole topic comes up because of an advertising campaign by the Triangle Freethought Society and the Freedom From Religion Foundation, which has put up a dozen billboards in Raleigh, North Carolina. These billboards have images of smiling individuals, with captions like, "I'm saved... from religion! -- Curtis Clayton, Raleigh, Truck Driver... Atheist." Another says, "Free thinking moves America forward! -- Robin, Parent... Nontheist." One with the face of Chris, a Raleigh artist: "Your faith feel wrong? It's OK to leave!" And Dale, a writer and agnostic: "I write fiction. I don't believe it."
For many people, criticizing another person's religion is verboten. You can tell someone her political beliefs are wrong; you can say a guy's way of running his business sucks; you can even tell someone he dresses funny. All are, depending on how they're phrased, considered acceptable behavior. But religion, somehow, is considered outside of the realm of criticism.
Well, sometimes. It seems like Muslims these days are fair targets for a lot of folks, and there are frequent posts detailing the bloodthirstier passages in the Quran (often authored by people who conveniently forget the equally bloodthirsty passages in the Old Testament). But other than that... it seems like you can say, do, or believe almost anything, and if you say, "It's my religion," you have an automatic Get Out Of Jail Free card.
Interesting, though, that lack of religion is not accorded the same respect. Although I have many times passed billboards with religious slogans (including some fairly threatening ones, of the "The Wages Of Sin Are Death!" variety), even fairly low-key atheist billboards have resulted in a whirlwind of angry response by believers. The billboard that showed up in New Jersey last December that said, "You know it's a myth. This season, celebrate reason" was greeted by howls of anger.
Atheism, it seems, is considered critical of religion by default; which, I suppose, it is. As such, it is automatically relegated to being offensive simply by virtue of its existence. In polls, atheists rank consistently lower than other groups often targeted by discrimination -- gays, Muslims, minorities -- and in fact, in one particularly telling poll, responders said they'd vote for a convicted felon for public office before they'd vote for an atheist.
In response, most atheists are pretty quiet about it. There are exceptions -- Dawkins and Hitchens inevitably come to mind -- but most of us try to fly under the radar. I'm of the medium-loud variety -- I don't go to especial pains to hide my views, but I see no particular need to flaunt them, either. Being that I live in a small village, I expect most people figure out what I think eventually.
Some take a while, though. I was once asked, in my Critical Thinking class, what my religious views were. This was fairly late in the semester, and although I was a little surprised that my reputation hadn't preceded me, I was delighted that some of the students still hadn't figured out where I stand. My goal, in that class especially, is for students to leave without really being sure what my political and religious beliefs are, with the feeling that I prodded and questioned and needled everyone to refine their thinking.
My first question was, "Why is that relevant?" The student responded that she was simply curious and interested. I said, "I'm an atheist." And another student said, "Are you allowed to say that in school?"
At first, I though he was somehow under the impression that because we're not allowed to preach to students, or try to convert them, that we couldn't mention religion at all. But no, upon being asked to clarify, he meant atheism in particular. "Isn't that saying that other religions are wrong?" he asked.
"If you don't mind my asking," I responded to him, "what are your religious views? You don't have to answer if you would prefer not to."
He shrugged and said, "I don't mind. I'm a Methodist."
I said, "Isn't that saying that other religions are wrong?"
Then he got it.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Threatening skeptics with crystal vibrational energy
As a further exploration of yesterday's topic (hell), I'd like to ask a question.
Let's say you have two people arguing. One (let's call him Sam) believes in god, divine retribution, the devil, angels, and the whole shebang. The other (Joe) believes in none of the above. In the course of the argument, Sam gets frustrated with Joe's lack of piety and tells him, "You are so going to hell. Satan has a whole room full of Inquisition-style torture equipment ready, with your name on it."
My question is: why would Sam think this is an effective means of persuasion?
Threatening Joe with a retribution by Satan in the afterlife, when Joe himself believes in neither, kind of sucks as a strategy. That notwithstanding, it seems like the most common approach. And the whole thing isn't limited to members of traditional religions.
In fact, the subject comes up because of last weekend's New Age Expo, "Body, Soul, and Spirit," which was held in Toronto. Amongst the workshop offerings were ones on "Crystal Healing," "Raising Your Vibration for Improved Health," a workshop whose description implies that quantum physics proves the oneness of the body and mind, and a "demonstration of mediumship" in which a gent named Vincent Pace "will connect to loved ones, guides, or Angels from the Spirit world, & deliver their message for audience members randomly!"
Those of you who know me well can just imagine how much I'd enjoy attending such an event. And evidently some other skeptics felt the same way, because some members of the Canadian group Centre for Inquiry (whose website is a must-see) approached the leaders of the Expo, described their stance on the whole thing, and asked to be admitted as unbiased observers.
I have to admit, it was mighty sporting of the Centre for Inquiry folks to clue the Expo leaders in on their intentions, but they must have realized that it was unlikely that they'd be welcomed with open arms. In fact, they were categorically denied entrance to the Expo. The take-home lesson, here, is that believers don't like skeptics, so the direct frontal approach in such situations is unlikely to succeed.
Myself, I'd have used the stealth approach. I'd have been the Ninja Warrior of Skeptics, dressed all in black, scaling the wall and slipping undetected into the workshops, and recording the whole thing on my tiny digital recording device. Then I'd vanish like the wind and return to my secret headquarters. They'd never know I was there, until a scathing exposé hit Skeptophilia the following day, and then they would retreat in complete disarray.
Okay, I have to admit, that's probably not what would have happened. Scaling walls is kind of out of the question for me lately. Some days, walking is almost out of the question. What I'd probably really have done is that I'd have simply bought a ticket, and probably would have ultimately been escorted out by the police after guffawing directly in the so-called medium's face. And since I doubt anyone who would attend a "Body, Soul and Spirit" convention reads Skeptophilia, "retreating in complete disarray" might be a bit of an overstatement.
But I digress.
So anyway, the Centre folks were denied entrance. What is even more interesting, however, is that the Expo leaders threatened the skeptics... with "bad karma." The response said, in part: "If you were really sincere, your company would focus on exposing the corruption in government, banking, medical, etc. So get honest with yourself or karma will teach you in ways your ego would not like."
Whoooo. That is one scary threat, there. Doesn't it occur to them that, just like the fictional Sam and Joe from the earlier example, you can't effectively threaten someone with something that they believe is nonexistent? I've never been told I'm going to have bad karma, although I have been told I'm headed for hell more than once; but it's hard to see how either one would change my behavior. You have to believe in something before it has any emotional pull on you.
Now, if the Expo leaders had said, "If you people show up here, we're getting out the baseball bats," that would be a threat I could respect. I believe in baseball bats. They do damage that even crystal vibration healing would have a hard time dealing with. But maybe the Expo leaders think that that hitting skeptics with baseball bats would be bad for their own karma. I dunno.
So, anyway, the skeptics didn't get to go to the Body, Soul, and Spirit Expo, which is kind of a disappointment. Next time, they should take my suggestion and try the stealth approach. I'm happy to come along. I've got my black Skeptical Ninja-suit all laid out.
Let's say you have two people arguing. One (let's call him Sam) believes in god, divine retribution, the devil, angels, and the whole shebang. The other (Joe) believes in none of the above. In the course of the argument, Sam gets frustrated with Joe's lack of piety and tells him, "You are so going to hell. Satan has a whole room full of Inquisition-style torture equipment ready, with your name on it."
My question is: why would Sam think this is an effective means of persuasion?
Threatening Joe with a retribution by Satan in the afterlife, when Joe himself believes in neither, kind of sucks as a strategy. That notwithstanding, it seems like the most common approach. And the whole thing isn't limited to members of traditional religions.
In fact, the subject comes up because of last weekend's New Age Expo, "Body, Soul, and Spirit," which was held in Toronto. Amongst the workshop offerings were ones on "Crystal Healing," "Raising Your Vibration for Improved Health," a workshop whose description implies that quantum physics proves the oneness of the body and mind, and a "demonstration of mediumship" in which a gent named Vincent Pace "will connect to loved ones, guides, or Angels from the Spirit world, & deliver their message for audience members randomly!"
Those of you who know me well can just imagine how much I'd enjoy attending such an event. And evidently some other skeptics felt the same way, because some members of the Canadian group Centre for Inquiry (whose website is a must-see) approached the leaders of the Expo, described their stance on the whole thing, and asked to be admitted as unbiased observers.
I have to admit, it was mighty sporting of the Centre for Inquiry folks to clue the Expo leaders in on their intentions, but they must have realized that it was unlikely that they'd be welcomed with open arms. In fact, they were categorically denied entrance to the Expo. The take-home lesson, here, is that believers don't like skeptics, so the direct frontal approach in such situations is unlikely to succeed.
Myself, I'd have used the stealth approach. I'd have been the Ninja Warrior of Skeptics, dressed all in black, scaling the wall and slipping undetected into the workshops, and recording the whole thing on my tiny digital recording device. Then I'd vanish like the wind and return to my secret headquarters. They'd never know I was there, until a scathing exposé hit Skeptophilia the following day, and then they would retreat in complete disarray.
Okay, I have to admit, that's probably not what would have happened. Scaling walls is kind of out of the question for me lately. Some days, walking is almost out of the question. What I'd probably really have done is that I'd have simply bought a ticket, and probably would have ultimately been escorted out by the police after guffawing directly in the so-called medium's face. And since I doubt anyone who would attend a "Body, Soul and Spirit" convention reads Skeptophilia, "retreating in complete disarray" might be a bit of an overstatement.
But I digress.
So anyway, the Centre folks were denied entrance. What is even more interesting, however, is that the Expo leaders threatened the skeptics... with "bad karma." The response said, in part: "If you were really sincere, your company would focus on exposing the corruption in government, banking, medical, etc. So get honest with yourself or karma will teach you in ways your ego would not like."
Whoooo. That is one scary threat, there. Doesn't it occur to them that, just like the fictional Sam and Joe from the earlier example, you can't effectively threaten someone with something that they believe is nonexistent? I've never been told I'm going to have bad karma, although I have been told I'm headed for hell more than once; but it's hard to see how either one would change my behavior. You have to believe in something before it has any emotional pull on you.
Now, if the Expo leaders had said, "If you people show up here, we're getting out the baseball bats," that would be a threat I could respect. I believe in baseball bats. They do damage that even crystal vibration healing would have a hard time dealing with. But maybe the Expo leaders think that that hitting skeptics with baseball bats would be bad for their own karma. I dunno.
So, anyway, the skeptics didn't get to go to the Body, Soul, and Spirit Expo, which is kind of a disappointment. Next time, they should take my suggestion and try the stealth approach. I'm happy to come along. I've got my black Skeptical Ninja-suit all laid out.
Monday, March 28, 2011
What the hell?
Apparently, there is a new controversy brewing amongst traditional Christians, centering around a new book by evangelical pastor Rob Bell called Love Wins, in which he describes what hell is like.
Me, I'd think it'd be the world's shortest book. Page one: "Beats the hell out of me. The End." You'd think that the thesis, and the resulting argument, both being based upon no hard facts whatsoever, would devolve into a lot of shrugging of shoulders and moving on to other, more pressing issues.
You'd be wrong.
Apparently his contentions have ignited a firestorm of controversy. Bell has been labeled a heretic; one prominent pastor commented, "Satan is having a field day with this." Another pastor, who espoused Bell's ideas, has been fired. The whole thing is still being hotly debated, and probably will continue to be for some time to come.
Bell's central point is that god's love can triumph even over sins that many think would doom a person to hell, and that therefore saying that this or that act is certain to condemn someone is wrong. Of course, a lot of people don't like that idea. From the touchy-feely end of the spectrum, you have the people who don't like the idea of hell in the first place, and are uncomfortable that there might be a final judgment; for them, Bell's book is too harsh. On the other end, there are the folks who really love the ideas of the unbelievers cooking eternally on Satan's George Foreman Grill, and for them, Bell is too easygoing, too admitting of wiggle-room.
I remember a girl I knew in college, who was honestly upset that I wasn't "saved," because she thought I was nice and didn't want me to spend eternity getting tortured. Which was kind enough of her, I suppose. But I recall her saying, "Being saved from hell isn't about being nice. Being saved from hell is about accepting Jesus. You can be all the nice you want, but if you haven't accepted Jesus, you're going to hell for all eternity."
A lot of the more liberal Christians have a kneejerk reaction against this -- it just seems unfair, somehow. What about observant Jews? Or Hindus? Or Muslims? Or Buddhists? Or all the millions of people who lived and died and never even heard about Christianity? It brings to mind the thing that went around the email circles a while back -- you may have seen it. "Q: What do Socrates, Albert Einstein, Mohandas Gandhi, Anne Frank, Lao Tse, and Chief Joseph all have in common? A: According to the fundamentalists, they're all in hell."
What's interesting is that even the bible itself isn't consistent in what it says. The Old Testament instances of the word that is often translated as "hell" is the Hebrew word sheol, which as far as I can understand from my Jewish friends, just kind of means a dreary, depressing place where everyone ultimately goes, a "place of nothingness." Sort of a New Jersey for the Spirit World. The concept of a place of torment seems limited to the New Testament, the "fiery furnace" where there'll be "weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth." In fact, several instances of that concept correspond to the New Testament writers' use of the Greek word tartaros, which makes me wonder if they borrowed the whole thing from Greek mythology. (You remember, Sisyphus and the Rock, Tantalus and the Water, etc.)
Anyhow, the whole thing comes across as rather silly to me -- to argue vehemently about the characteristics of a place that no one has any direct information about, and about which even the one source they're accepting isn't clear. Of course, it isn't the first time I've been mystified by the behavior of religious folks, and probably won't be the last; but to be fair, they probably find my lack of belief equally mystifying.
Me, I'd think it'd be the world's shortest book. Page one: "Beats the hell out of me. The End." You'd think that the thesis, and the resulting argument, both being based upon no hard facts whatsoever, would devolve into a lot of shrugging of shoulders and moving on to other, more pressing issues.
You'd be wrong.
Apparently his contentions have ignited a firestorm of controversy. Bell has been labeled a heretic; one prominent pastor commented, "Satan is having a field day with this." Another pastor, who espoused Bell's ideas, has been fired. The whole thing is still being hotly debated, and probably will continue to be for some time to come.
Bell's central point is that god's love can triumph even over sins that many think would doom a person to hell, and that therefore saying that this or that act is certain to condemn someone is wrong. Of course, a lot of people don't like that idea. From the touchy-feely end of the spectrum, you have the people who don't like the idea of hell in the first place, and are uncomfortable that there might be a final judgment; for them, Bell's book is too harsh. On the other end, there are the folks who really love the ideas of the unbelievers cooking eternally on Satan's George Foreman Grill, and for them, Bell is too easygoing, too admitting of wiggle-room.
I remember a girl I knew in college, who was honestly upset that I wasn't "saved," because she thought I was nice and didn't want me to spend eternity getting tortured. Which was kind enough of her, I suppose. But I recall her saying, "Being saved from hell isn't about being nice. Being saved from hell is about accepting Jesus. You can be all the nice you want, but if you haven't accepted Jesus, you're going to hell for all eternity."
A lot of the more liberal Christians have a kneejerk reaction against this -- it just seems unfair, somehow. What about observant Jews? Or Hindus? Or Muslims? Or Buddhists? Or all the millions of people who lived and died and never even heard about Christianity? It brings to mind the thing that went around the email circles a while back -- you may have seen it. "Q: What do Socrates, Albert Einstein, Mohandas Gandhi, Anne Frank, Lao Tse, and Chief Joseph all have in common? A: According to the fundamentalists, they're all in hell."
What's interesting is that even the bible itself isn't consistent in what it says. The Old Testament instances of the word that is often translated as "hell" is the Hebrew word sheol, which as far as I can understand from my Jewish friends, just kind of means a dreary, depressing place where everyone ultimately goes, a "place of nothingness." Sort of a New Jersey for the Spirit World. The concept of a place of torment seems limited to the New Testament, the "fiery furnace" where there'll be "weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth." In fact, several instances of that concept correspond to the New Testament writers' use of the Greek word tartaros, which makes me wonder if they borrowed the whole thing from Greek mythology. (You remember, Sisyphus and the Rock, Tantalus and the Water, etc.)
Anyhow, the whole thing comes across as rather silly to me -- to argue vehemently about the characteristics of a place that no one has any direct information about, and about which even the one source they're accepting isn't clear. Of course, it isn't the first time I've been mystified by the behavior of religious folks, and probably won't be the last; but to be fair, they probably find my lack of belief equally mystifying.
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