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Thursday, 10 December 2009

  • Dinesh D'Souza vs. the Giant Weasel God

    This morning I came across an article describing a new book called Life After Death: The Evidence.  When I saw that, I clicked on the link with considerably more eagerness than my pre-coffee state would normally allow.

    It wasn't, honestly, that I was expecting anything like a fair and balanced (to borrow a phrase) treatment of the subject.  I doubt that anyone is really completely unbiased on the topic.  However, it wasn't until the end that I realized that the article, and the book, were written by conservative author Dinesh D'Souza, whose views certainly don't represent the skepticism I would hope to find in writing whose title claims to be evidence-based.

    The main claims of D'Souza's arguments seem to be based upon near-death experiences.  He emphasizes the commonality between different people's accounts of near-death experiences, and discounts the claims of psychologist Susan Blackmore, who first put forth the hypothesis that the similarity of NDEs (such as the well-known "tunnel of white light") come from the effects of brain shutdown as the person dies.

    Now, before I proceed, let me state outright that I don't know whether there is life after death or not.  To me, the jury is still out on that one, and frankly, I expect it to still be out until the point when I take that final leap into the dark myself.  At that point I will know, or not (because there will no longer be any "me" left to know anything).  NDEs are intriguing (as are stories about ghosts and hauntings and so on), but at this point, as evidence they strike me as pretty thin.  Still, it's an interesting idea, and should good evidence come my way, I would certainly be willing to reconsider my position -- as befits the attitude of any true skeptic.

    After that, however, D'Souza jumps right into the kind of pseudoscientific blather that is so often used to give apparent support to tenuous theories.  To wit:

    For the Christian conception of life after death to be viable, there have to be realms beyond the physical universe that are quite literally outside space and time. This is what the Christian concept of "eternity" means. God is eternal and heaven is His eternal realm. But in Newtonian physics these concepts made no sense, because time was presumed to extend indefinitely into the past and the future, and space was presumed to stretch unendingly in all directions.

    Today, however, you just have to wander into an introductory college science class to see how 21st-century physics has greatly widened our horizons. Today scientists routinely speak of hidden dimensions, multiple realms, and even multiple universes. What do we know about multiple universes? Not a lot, but we know that if they do exist they would have laws radically different from those in our universe.

    One of the direct implications of the Big Bang is that not only did the physical universe have a beginning, but space and time also had a beginning. Space and time are properties of our universe. This means that in realms beyond our universe, if such realms exist, there might be no space and no time. Suddenly the Christian idea of eternity is rendered intelligible.

    The first thing that is apparent to me from the preceding paragraphs is that D'Souza himself hasn't wandered into any introductory science classes himself lately.  To pick out only the most egregiously false statements from this passage:

    • Newtonian physics has nothing in particular to say about god one way or the other.  It doesn't claim that time or space was/is unending, it simply describes how objects in this space move and interact.
    • The "hidden dimensions" he refers to probably come from the concepts of string theory, which is based in mathematics of (at my last reading) up to eleven spatial dimensions.  Most string theorists believe that all but three of those spatial dimensions are "curled up" into a space far smaller than the volume of an atom; it's hard to see what those submicroscopic dimensions could affect on the macroscopic scale, far less what bearing they might have on life after death.
    • Ditto the "multiple universes."  Both string theory and the many-worlds theory of quantum mechanics (which he seems to be referencing) are as yet unsupported by experimental evidence.  Plus, his final statement, that multiple universes, if they exist, are known to have radically different laws, is simply false.  The fact is, we neither know if multiple universes exist, nor if they exist, what kinds of physical laws they might have.  The book Just Six Numbers by Martin Rees explores the idea of what the universe would be like if the physical constants that shape it (such as the strength of gravity) were different.  But given that we don't know why the current universe has its constants set the way they are, it's hard to draw any conclusions about the likelihood of other universes having other laws.  And once again, I'm hard pressed to see what relevance it would have to an afterlife, in any case.

    Last, he does a good bit of atheist-bashing, implying that atheists are either blundering about with blinders on, ignoring the "preponderance of evidence," or else are engaging in wishful thinking because they're afraid of being held accountable in the next life for their own misdeeds.  In his words:

    I began by leveling the playing field between atheists and believers. Sure, the believer hasn't been to the other side or questioned any dead people, but the atheist hasn't either. So what information does the atheist have that the believer doesn't? None. The absence of proof is not proof of absence, so the atheist's denial of life after death, like the believer's affirmation of it, is ultimately a faith-based position.

    Naturally, I take exception to this stance. The only "faith-based" part of my own thinking is that I usually try to rely on hard evidence before adopting a stance one way or another; my "faith," if you can call it that, is that reasoning and evidence are the best way to understand the universe.  And while he is correct that "absence of proof is not proof of absence," that well-worn statement becomes a little specious when you apply it to particular situations.  Let's try:

    • I believe that Bigfoot exists; you don't.  Because belief and disbelief are equivalent, "faith-based" positions, it's up to you to prove to me that Bigfoot doesn't exist.
    • There are thousands of first-hand accounts of UFOs, which amounts to a preponderance of evidence.  If you can't prove that these people are lying, or deluded, UFOs exist.

    And so on.  To me, whether belief and disbelief are equivalent depends entirely on what you're expecting me to believe in.  If you want me to believe that there is a Giant Weasel God who lives at the top of Mt. St. Helens and that He was directly responsible for the 1980 volcanic eruption, then I think that the burden of proof is on you.  On the other hand, if I disbelieve in the existence of the sun, then it's beholden upon me to find evidence to support my relatively non-intuitive viewpoint.  As always, Extraordinary Claims Require Extraordinary Evidence.

    Despite my criticisms of D'Souza's claims, no one would be more thrilled than me if there really was hard evidence of an afterlife.  I'm not really all that excited about the concept of Ceasing To Be.  However, to quote Carl Sagan, "It is far better to grasp the universe it is than to persist in delusion, however satisfying or reassuring."

     

Saturday, 05 December 2009

  • O Christmas Tree

    On the way back from grocery shopping today I passed several cars with Christmas trees tied to their roof racks, and it immediately awoke in me a flood of nostalgia.

    Christmas was my favorite holiday, growing up, and it wasn't just the presents (although those were undeniably nice as well).  I thought all the decorations were beautiful, and I loved (most of) the music.  It is a cliché to use the word "magical," but that's what it felt like; as if the ordinary mundaneness of the world was suspended for a few weeks, and we were allowed to partake in something grand and mysterious and lovely.

    My mom, being an artist, was a stickler for having the Christmas tree decorated perfectly.  As a result, putting it up could be a bit frustrating, but once it was there, it was a sight.  She had a number of very old glass ornaments which had belonged to her parents and grandparents, and those always had a special place in amongst the more ordinary glass balls and teardrops.  The set of lights she liked best had medium-sized screw-in bulbs, transparent but brightly colored.  My favorite thing about these lights was that when they turned on and off, they gave a tiny, bell-like chiming sound -- most likely from a prosaic source, probably a thermocouple which made contact and release with the electrical source.  But to sit in the darkness, looking at the beautifully decorated tree, and listen to the faint pings as the lights flickered off and on, is a memory that still makes me smile now, thirty-five years later.

    Today, Christmas occupies for me a peculiar place in my perception of the year.  I still love to give (and receive) gifts, so I always look forward to that aspect of it.  But as an atheist, married to a Jew, it hovers in that weird gray area of holidays that I still celebrate but really have no good reason to.  I stopped putting up a tree about six years ago, once the kids became too old to really care (and with the completely practical argument that as the owner of four cats, we'd probably not have had an ornament left by Christmas eve, and would have spent the next six months vacuuming splinters of glass balls out of the carpet -- or pulling them out of the soles of our feet).

    I've even left behind the music, surprising for someone for whom music is the single most important thing other than family and friends.  We have a collection of cds which exceed 600 albums, but the only Christmas music I currently own are the holiday albums by Mannheim Steamroller and Trans-Siberian Orchestra (hardly the most traditional of Christmas offerings).  Despite the fact that I still think that some of the standard carols are exquisite -- I can think of few more beautiful songs than "O Holy Night" and "Angels We Have Heard On High" -- I don't have a single album with the Christmas music I remember from my childhood.

    I tell myself that it really doesn't matter, that so much of the holiday has been co-opted by marketers, the latest must-have purchases, and piped-in recordings of horrid renditions of "The Little Drummer Boy," that any magic in it has been destroyed by malls and advertisements and commercialism.  I tell myself that when I left the church, over twenty years ago, that I abandoned the only real reason to take Christmas seriously; that if you don't believe in the story of Christmas' origins, all the rest is mere trappings, an excuse to have a big dinner and get lots of stuff.

    But.

    I feel like I've lost something.  There is something in the human psyche that needs ritual, that needs to suspend disbelief, even if only for a little while.  I have always thought, and still do think, that being a hard-edged skeptic is a noble calling, that the world could use (a lot) more skeptical thinking.  But I have to admit that the dry practicality of questioning everything can be awfully wearying after a while.  Sometimes, especially around this time of year, I feel like I need to just give myself a good hard slap, and say, "Stop demanding proof.  Stop, even if just for a little, trying to make everything conform to your narrow, rationalistic world view.  Stop -- and just sit and enjoy, and don't worry whether you believe or not.  Belief, in the long haul, may not be the most important thing."

    I doubt, honestly, even if I were to take the aforementioned steps, that we would put up a Christmas tree this year.  The cat problem hasn't gone away, and we're going to be gone, visiting family, over Christmas anyhow.  But perhaps just thinking in this way is a step in the right direction.  Books on logic and scientific treatises may, in the long run, be the best way to understand the world; but given a choice of something to sit silently in the dark and watch, I'd take a Christmas tree over a stack of textbooks every time.


Thursday, 03 December 2009

  • Translation bias

    You've probably heard about it already, but a group of theological and political conservatives have come together to retranslate the bible and bring it more in line with conservative principles.  (You can read more of the details here.)

    The stated goal of this group is to comb the bible and remove "liberal bias."  Any lines which make Jesus come across as a social activist, for example (e.g. the part about feeding the poor), are to be rewritten to eliminate what they perceive as contrary to the conservative agenda.  Murder is to be punished, including a new clause to protect the unborn.  The whole thing, in fact, is to be retooled so that conservative principles can be proven to have a scriptural basis.

    My first thought was that this was some kind of hoax.  I thought, "Can they really be engaging in so transparently circular an argument?"  Tragically, it is not a hoax at all.  They really believe that the bible's current popular translations have been twisted into a liberal framework, and that it is god's will that they undo the damage.

    Of the many problems I see here, first and foremost is:  are they really arrogant enough to believe that they, and only they, have enough of a window into the intent of the original writers of the bible manuscripts to be able to accurately portray those intents in English?  I'm sure that some of the current translations of the bible have errors -- either denotative (using the wrong word entirely) or connotative (using a word which is literally correct but gives the wrong impression).  How do they know that theirs is any better?  They admit that many of the people on the committee are not language scholars; they are merely hired to "comb the bible for liberal bias" and to submit a "better translation."  You'd think that they, of all people, would want to be exceedingly careful about doing that.  Aren't they the ones who believe that it's the inerrant word of god?

    Of course, the central problem with most of these folks is that they want to focus with wearying intensity on some parts of the bible (such as the prohibition against homosexuality) and completely ignore others (such as the prohibition against usury -- lending money at interest).  Some of the more peculiar prohibitions in the old testament, such as the command never to eat pork, wear clothing made of two kinds of thread sewn together, or gather firewood on the sabbath (the last-mentioned was punishable by death), they argue away by saying that "Jesus made a new covenant" which superseded all of the old, picayune laws in the old testament -- except, apparently, the ones they want to keep.

    Note that I'm not trying to criticize Christianity or Christians en masse.  Despite my own beliefs, or lack thereof, I really don't particularly care what sort of beliefs you choose to have, as long as you don't force them on me.  I'm writing more because I'm genuinely mystified by the thought process that's going on here.  How on earth could any honest scholar look at any book -- much less one (s)he revered as holy writ -- and simply decide to rewrite it to eliminate or alter parts of it that (s)he didn't like?  If there was a rational argument going on, backed up by facts from the people who are the experts (i.e. people who have spent their life studying Hebrew, Latin, and Aramaic) -- that I would understand, and in fact probably would never have thought even to comment upon.  But to decide that the previous translators were biased simply because you don't like their translation is an act of tremendous spiritual pride.  And even with my admittedly poor knowledge of the bible, I seem to remember that pride is considered to be one of the more serious sins.

    Isn't there, in fact, something in there about how it "goeth before a fall?"

     

Saturday, 28 November 2009

  • Ockham wept

    And to further defile the memory of my favorite medieval theologian, William of Ockham, I have two more examples from today's news of people who would much rather a complex, unlikely explanation than a simple, logical one.

    First, in Methuen, Massachusetts, a woman named Mary Jo Coady is claiming that an image of Jesus has appeared on the bottom of her iron.  She states that this is a message from god that "Jesus is listening" and that "life is going to be good."

    A while back I blogged on the phenomenon of pareidolia, the tendency among humans to see faces where there are no faces -- in clouds, stains on cement, tortillas, grilled cheese sandwiches, Mars, and (now) the bottom of an iron.  It's hardwired into our brains to be good at facial recognition; the survival value is obvious.  Even I can see a face-like image on the iron (there's a photograph here).  But it seems to me to be a bit of a leap to go from "face-like pattern on iron" to "Jesus" to "life is going to be good."  Not for Ms. Coady, apparently.  She plans on buying a new iron, and keeping the iron with the image "in a special place."

    This, of course, raises a few questions, the most important of which is: how is it that Mary Jo Coady knows what Jesus looked like?  I'm hoping there's no one, not even among the most devoutly religious, who actually believes that the images of Jesus that adorn everything from religious statuary to greeting cards represent what the real Jesus looked like.  Given that, how can she tell that the image is Jesus?  After some study of the image, my feeling is that it looks more like Bob Marley.  But I guess that wouldn't be all that inspirational to most people, unless what you want to be inspired to do is smoke truly enormous amounts of marijuana.

    In another story, a rancher in San Luis, Colorado is reporting that four calves from his ranch have recently been killed and bizarrely mutilated.  The calves had their skin peeled back, and most of the internal organs removed, and then were just left there.  The rancher, Manuel Sanchez, states that there were no footprints, ATV tracks, or anything that might point to the actions of a human (or more than one); nor is this typical of an animal attack.  Most oddly, there was apparently no blood at the scene (this from a statement by one of the policemen who has been investigating the crime).

    Now, first, let me be up front about the fact that I have no idea what's going on here.  But I did correctly guess, without even reading the rest of the article, what the most popular explanation would be.  Are you ready?  I bet you've already figured it out.

    Aliens.

    Yup.  Extremely advanced alien civilizations, spending who knows how much in the way of time and resources to leave their home planet and get to Earth, have done it all in order to harvest... cow parts.  I don't know about you, but if I was an extremely advanced alien, capable of coming to Earth, and presumably able to use my technology to take anything I wanted back to my planet, I would definitely choose something better than cow parts.  Hell, given the choice, I'd bring back Penelope Cruz.  But that's just me.

    In any case, I can almost guarantee that San Luis, Colorado is going to be visited by investigators of (1) UFO cases, (2) crop circles, (3) satanic rituals, and (4) El Chupacabra over the next few weeks.  I really feel for Manuel Sanchez, not only for the loss of his livestock, but because he's going to be dealing with hundreds of fanatical wingnuts in the near future.  Of course, he could turn this to his advantage - maybe he should follow the lead of Roswell, New Mexico, and open up his ranch as a tourist attraction.  I bet he could make millions.

    So, it looks like the whole look-for-a-simple-explanation message is still not sinking in, for most people.  I shouldn't be surprised, I suppose, given the level of superstitious nonsense that is still fervently espoused by the general populace.  I know that makes me sound like a cocky, arrogant jerk, and maybe I am, but at least I'm not going to waste my time building a shrine to an image of Bob Marley on the bottom of an iron.


Sunday, 15 November 2009

  • Pink cleeks and snikiups

    My handwriting is atrocious.

    It's been that way for as long as I can remember.  I almost failed kindergarten because of penmanship.  My first grade teacher, Mrs. Moore, who evidently never took Warm Fuzzy Elementary School Teacher Methods 101, once told me that she'd call my handwriting chicken scratch, but she doubted that the chickens could read it, either.  My cursive is hopeless; it looks a little like the Elvish script from Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings, only written by a rather dimwitted Elf with a disorder of the central nervous system.

    When I was in 8th grade I switched over to block print.  This was an improvement over cursive, but not as much as you would think.  Even today, my writing is bafflingly illegible to many.  It gets worse when I'm in a hurry; this is why my shopping lists look like they're written in some foreign script, possibly cuneiform.  Occasionally it gets so bad that I can't read it myself.  I wandered all over the grocery store one time, trying to find a "pink cleek," because that's what it clearly said on the shopping list.  It took me fifteen minutes to figure out that it actually said "pint cream."  Just today, I had to pause and try and figure out what a "snikiup" was.  Since I now arrange my shopping list by section of the grocery store (not so much because I'm organized but because I loathe shopping and want to make it as fast and efficient as possible), I knew it had to be something in the meat and seafood department.  Guesses, anyone?

    It was "shrimp."  It only took me five minutes to figure it out, which I thought was pretty good, considering.

    This is a potentially serious problem for my teaching, because I'm one of those old-fashioned teachers who prefers a whiteboard to PowerPoint (or, in fact, to anything at all technological).  I always tell my students to point it out if they can't read my handwriting, because I will be happy to translate if needed.  A few weeks ago, I wrote on the whiteboard, "Enzyme reaction rate depends on pH," and one of my students said, in a plaintive little voice, "I can't read a single word of that sentence."  There was general amusement from the studio audience.  So, in my typical smartass fashion, I wrote underneath, in exaggerated block letters, "ENZYME REACTION RATE DEPENDS ON PH."  And another of my students, in awed tones, said, "It's just like the Rosetta Stone!"

    Speaking of Egypt, you have to wonder if there were kids back then who just couldn't write legibly in hieroglyphics.  I mean, if you think that English letters are bad, what about all those little figures?  I know I'd have flunked out.  Can't you picture it?

    Mrs. Moore-ankh-amen:  "What is this?  This falcon looks like a cross-eyed duck!  You can do better than that!"

    Gordon-hotep:  "I'm trying!  It's hard!"

    Mrs. Moore-ankh-amen:  "And this snake!  It's facing the wrong direction!  It's supposed to mean 'courage' -- facing this direction, it means 'umbrella'!  So your sentence means, 'Soldiers of Egypt, going into battle, have umbrellas!'"

    Gordon-hotep:  "It could work.  Suppose while they were in battle, it rained?"

    Mrs. Moore-ankh-amen:  "Good Osiris.  I wish I'd taken that early retirement incentive the Pharaoh offered last year."


    Compare that to my wife, whose artwork consists of incredibly tiny, although legible, letters.  If you have excellent eyesight, or a good magnifying glass, you can actually read it.  She once -- no lie -- wrote my name, legibly, on a grain of rice.  Me, I can't write my name legibly with a broad-tip marker on poster board.  If you want to see her work, check it out at our website.

    In any case, I'm not particularly distressed by my poor penmanship, even if it does occasionally baffle my family, friends, and students.  There are certainly worse problems to have to deal with, even if I do sometimes get stuck in the grocery store trying to find snikiups and pink cleeks.



bayouboy1026

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About Me

  • I'm a musician and traveler who teaches biology so I can eat and pay the mortgage. This blog is about evolutionary biology and genetics, inquiries into language, music, birdwatching, philosophy, and psychology, all explained through interpretive dance. OK, I made the last part up, but come take a look anyhow.

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  • bayouboy1026
    Hmmmm... I wonder who this could be? Carol will be so jealous....
  • Froggie4u2
    What you really need is a good Massage Therapist who understands how to make those migraines disapear. Any idea who that could be??? Huuuummm, oh yea that's right, it's me...Hee Hee...glad you feel better Gordon