The Failure Of Atheism

"I have no need of that hypothesis" - Pierre-Simon Laplace

When asked by Napoleon on why his work on astronomy did not mention the creator, it is said that Laplace gave the above reply. The Scientific Revolution was supposed to herald the end of religion and superstition and supplant it with reason and logic. Yet, early in the 21st Century, atheism stands failed. Failed completely and utterly.

The newspaper headline screamed, "Fiery NMP gets her baptism of fire." The article begins in this manner.
 
"She was a 'very, very arrogant' atheist, who scored an A1 in Bible Knowledge for her O levels, and ripped apart the beliefs of her Christian friends when debating religion with them.

Then, at the age of 19, she converted to Christianity.

Professor Thio Li-ann smiles wryly as she casts her mind back to that day in October 1987.

Having just entered Oxford to study jurisprudence, she attended a Christian Union talk at a friend's invitation.

Wanting to leave halfway, she was 'stopped' by a voice.

'I basically had a sense that God was talking to me,' she recounts."

And so, the smart 'atheist' who scored an A1 was converted. What a nauseating article, if ever there was one. How it mocks those great atheist minds. What ever would LaPlace know of logic, he did not get an A1 in Bible Knowledge. Or how about people like Steven Weinberg, Bertrand Russell, Linus Pauling, Godfrey Hardy and Paul Dirac to name a few. What would they know of atheism. Perhaps it's just too bad that 'voices' did not come to them and that a loving God did not speak to them.

But now, Prof Thio Li-ann has taken up this moral crusade to prevent those 'sinful' and 'immoral' homosexuals from getting even a modicum of respect and self-worth. All because in October 1987, a voice spoke to her. To her gay sex 'creates a sense of moral opprobrium or repugnance.'

It is too bad that not many people know of the case of Alan Turing. Widely considered, the father of modern computer science. Turing was also an integral part in breaking the German Enigma Code during the Second World War. Whatever he contributed to bring about peace in the modern world, was quickly forgotten as in 1952, he was convicted of 'acts of gross indecency'  for sexual acts with a man and was forced to undergo chemical castration. Rather than face this humiliation, he ate an cyanide laced apple. Some believe that half-eaten apple logo of Apple Inc. is a tribute to this genius, humble and a harmless man, who was persecuted with a vengeance not seen since the Salem Witch-hunt.

I am quite certain that most decent people will find Turing's persecution to be morally repugnant and not his homosexuality. But why has the atheistic philosophy failed?

Perhaps even more so than homosexuals, atheists have been too long in their closets. Too coy to ruffle the feathers of religion in a debate. Too afraid to hurt the sensitive sentiments of the religious. Why should we? The truth of the Universe and of history is on our side. The time for inaction is over. Perhaps, ironically, we should take heed from that great American Conservative and Republican, Barry Goldwater, who said "The religious factions will go on imposing their will on others....unless the decent people connected to them recognize that religion has no place in public policy." Let us base our policy upon strong fundamentals based upon stronger reason and not be swayed by the hallucinations of a 19-year old teen with a "weakness for very handsome men with brown hair."

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A Dinosaur In The Room

The name of the popular dinosaur, Brontosaurus, is actually a misnomer. It should properly be called Apatosaurus. But, the word, Brontosaurus, is so steeped in popular culture that anyone, not a paleontologist, would not know it to be incorrect. In fact, the dictionary built into my iBook, lists Apatosaurus as an unidentified word, while affirming Brontosaurus to be correct.

Here's how the controversy got started. Othniel Charles Marsh, a paleontologist, (at the time involved in a fierce rivalry with fellow paleontologist, Edward Drinker Cope) discovered in 1877, a partial skeleton, which he named Apatosaurus ajax. In 1879, he looked at 6 different partial skeletons, including a skull, which he speculated to be from the same animal but of a different species and called it, Brontosaurus excelus.

Some 20 years later, it was realised that Brontosaurus excelus was in effect an adult Apatosaurus ajax, and since the genus, Apatosaurus was published first, it took precedence.

But the public imagination was captured, when in 1905, the fossils - at the time, the largest dinosaur species and nearly complete, except for a skull - went on display on the Peabody Museum of Natural History at Yale. The museum, funded by that great American philanthropist and uncle to Othniel Charles Marsh, George Peabody. The massive skeleton's missing skull was reconstructed by paleontologist, who believed it to have strong and thick skull features. And so, the composite skull was created out of, largely, remains of another dinosaur called Camarasaurus. Thus giving us that image of a large dinosaur so commonly found in popular culture and media.

But, that is just irrelevant trivia. In truth, we can scarcely be able to appreciate, the size of an Apatosaurus, or its larger cousins. Perhaps the image below can put some perspective on things.



Yet, some 65 million years ago, they disappeared. Perhaps, it was due to the hypothesised metorite impact at Chicxulub, or some yet unknown cause. Whatever, they are gone now. But those great pioneer entrepreneurs of America, like George Peabody, and perhaps the greatest of them all, Andrew Carnegie realised, the importance of scientific discovery and a science-based education. This spirit of discovery and innovation, brought America to its place today at the forefront of the world. And so, along this path both China and India seem to be heading. It will benefit both societies greatly.

Yet America today, seems to be heading backward. For every Smithsonian Institution and Carnegie Museum lies a most abhorrent sight - the image of the Creation Museum in Kentucky. Led by that mountebank - Ken Ham, this 'museum', should be a laughing stock. Its displays of a Triceratops complete with saddle and of a Tyrannosaur eating plants, border on insanity. How I wish we could laugh it all of. But this money-swindling scam of Ken Ham, stems from that breed of literal Protestant-Evangelical Christianity that like a virus spreads its nonsensical views all over the world.

Like a bad smell their interference on every issue is nauseating. From gay-rights, to abortion, to casinos to evolution, they can only promogulate their discriminatory and short-sighted views. In my country too, they are not quiet. Stealthily like a common thief, they spread their views and espouse so-called values to their parishes. A google search unveils these lying institutions. Let us hope, that despite their constant cacophony, people will still look for reason and evidence. Still, search for the proper and rational processes that run the universe. Still, look at their 'holy' books as a part of a historical narrative that is not inerrant (in fact, often erroneous).

Science has much to offer. The scientific revolution has led to the world as it is today. Not perfect, not by a long shot, but still searching and improving. And having enjoyed the fruits of science and technology, the religious priest dares to decry this 'age of materialism and post-modernism'. Lets us work together that these quacks go the way of the dinosaurs and we can move on with our lives.

The Blue And The Gray

It's been a while since my last post. But while I compile and organize my thoughts and ideas, I'd like to share a poem that I came across a long time ago and recently ran into again. I have always had a soft spot for poems, even as my many attempts at writing them are a source of considerable embarrassment. Still, I enjoy reading from time to time and always do I try to appreciate the condensation of thought into an eloquent and rhythmic passage. And perhaps, my affection for the blues has a lot to do with my admiration for the poetry of the blues lyric. Anyways, the following is a famous poem, reflecting on the American Civil War. It was written, by an American lawyer, Francis Miles Finch, who was inspired when he read a newspaper article about a group of women, in Mississippi, tending to the graves of both the Northern and Southern armies: the Union and Confederate armies, or as they are called more colloquially in their local parlance, the Blue and the Gray.

The Blue and The Gray - Francis Miles Finch (1867)

By the flow of the inland river,
Whence the fleets of iron have fled,
Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver,
Asleep are the ranks of the dead:
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment-day;
Under the one, the Blue,
Under the other, the Gray

These in the robings of glory,
Those in the gloom of defeat,
All with the battle-blood gory,
In the dusk of eternity meet:
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgement-day
Under the laurel, the Blue,
Under the willow, the Gray.

From the silence of sorrowful hours
The desolate mourners go,
Lovingly laden with flowers
Alike for the friend and the foe;
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgement-day;
Under the roses, the Blue,
Under the lilies, the Gray.

So with an equal splendor,
The morning sun-rays fall,
With a touch impartially tender,
On the blossoms blooming for all:
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment-day;
Broidered with gold, the Blue,
Mellowed with gold, the Gray.

So, when the summer calleth,
On forest and field of grain,
With an equal murmur falleth
The cooling drip of the rain:
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment -day,
Wet with the rain, the Blue
Wet with the rain, the Gray.

Sadly, but not with upbraiding,
The generous deed was done,
In the storm of the years that are fading
No braver battle was won:
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment-day;
Under the blossoms, the Blue,
Under the garlands, the Gray

No more shall the war cry sever,
Or the winding rivers be red;
They banish our anger forever
When they laurel the graves of our dead!
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment-day,
Love and tears for the Blue,
Tears and love for the Gray.

Am I My Brother's Keeper?

I was watching the Hallmark channel yesterday and came across, My Brother's Keeper. I watched this movie about a year ago and was pleased to watch it again. Not one of those movies with a big budget, snazzy special effects, stellar cast (unless you consider John Lithgow to be one), and without as Arnold would put it, "a shocking twist" at the end. It relies instead on a simple story-telling with a powerful message.

Based on a true story, John Lithgow acts as twin brothers, Tom & Bob Bradley, both homosexuals and teachers in a school in the small New York community of Bayport, Long Island. When Tom Bradley, who is also HIV positive, decides to go for an experimental procedure that might offer him a cure, he realizes that his insurance company refuses to pay for the treatment. When the Bradleys decide to sue, they are forced to come out with their homosexuality and HIV.

The small community however quickly rallied behind Tom Bradley, organizing fund raisers and offering emotional support. Tom Bradley won the court case but an eye infection prevented the experimental procedure from being carried out. Tom Bradley would pass away the following year.

Perhaps, the movie's most gripping moments, is to see, Tom Bradley's mother, a staunch Roman Catholic come to terms with the fact her sons are homosexual.

I usually consider that nothing of value is to be learnt from the silver screens. Not in this case. Again, the local media has been awash with regards to the homosexual 'problem'. Much of the objection once again comes from vocal religious types. They would do good to watch the show.

It is an irony that religion, much vaunted, as tolerant and peaceful, is in this country an outpost for close-mindedness and intolerance. On the delusional belief, that theirs and theirs alone is the revealed and infallible word of God (or Gods), the religious leaders have called their masses to respond negatively to the homosexual situation.

The Bayport community of Long Island have shown us, that when people dedicate their lives and efforts for the good of the community, then that community will respond likewise when the need arises. The school superintendent, a Mr. Reilly remarked, "I have not received one call, from either a parent or anybody, that's negative.'' How wonderful the human spirit of benevolence and helpfulness. They did not care for his orientation nor his religious views.

Let us hope that people will be able to see through the rhetoric of these charlatans, masquerading as religious preachers, imams and priests. And that people will always respond as the Bayport community has done - In a civilized way in this civilized world.

The story covered in The New York Times.

Thats What The Blues Is All About

My collection of blues record now number close to two thousand, not entirely modest, I am aware, but not complete in any sense of the word either.

Still, I am regularly surprised at how often I am "wowed" by a particular song or artist, either blues or folk. So when I was reading Alan Lomax's 'Land Where The Blues Began,' I was curious to listen to a blues record that Lomax claims to be his best experience with the blues. Lomax's passion for the blues often leaves him prone to hyperbole. Nonetheless, he was a man, that recorded and spent an intimate amount of time with Leadbelly, Sonny Terry, Fred McDowell, Muddy Waters and the rest of them. So when he picks out his recordings with the legendary Son House and friends as the best of the lot, then there must be some element of truth in them, in the very least warranting an audio investigation.

But first, a little more on Son House. Born near Clarksdale, Mississippi, in 1902(disputed), the young Son House was drawn to the Baptist Church and began to give sermons at around the age of fifteen. Perhaps, Son House had some religious calling in him, or perhaps, he admired the relatively 'easy' and 'respectable' life that black preachers were accorded in the Segregated South in the first half of the 1920s.

"I am gonna get me a religion, gonna join the Baptist Church,
You know I wanna be a Baptist preacher, so I won't have to work" 

Nonetheless, Son House could not resist the temptations in him, and soon he began to follow in the 'devil's music': the blues and all that it entailed, womanizing, alcohol, violence etc. So in 1928, Son House, during a fight, killed a man, allegedly in self-defence and was sentenced to a 15 year term in the Mississippi State Penitentiary, more popularly known to the largely black inmates there as Parchman's Farm. He was released from there however, in 1930 and it was sometime here that he linked up with another delta great, Charley Patton and also recorded his first songs for Paramount records. A decade later, Alan Lomax, working for the Library of Congress recorded Son House amongst which was that session he labeled 'as my best experience of the blues.'

In 1964, House was 'discovered' in Rochester, New York when the blues-folk revival was in full swing in America. Here he played to awestruck young and predominately white audiences and of course, British counterparts from across the Atlantic, amongst whom were the Rolling Stones. He played as much as his health allowed him during his later years, till some years before his passing in October of 1988.

But, what draws people to Son House (or scares them away) is the vigor and passion through which he sends his message across. The guitar would bang out the repetitive rhythm over which his powerful voice would say what it wanted. Make no mistake, he was not just an ordinary tractor driver. He was also one of the finest blues performers, having honed his skill with Charlie Patton and Wille Brown on the streets to the harsh critics of the Mississippi Delta. He knew what it took to keep the audience raptured in his hand. The dichotomy between Son House: the preacher and Son House: the bluesman, crying out to be resolved in every verse, as the tendons of his face and neck stretched and flexed, and as the veins in his face throbbed with the energy of his emotion, either love, anger, hate or laughter. It was, in our modern world, a different music from a different place. But what was it about the recording that Alan Lomax talked about that was so special. That even with Son House's standards, was special.

Alan Lomax, describes it better than me. As he sat, with his acetate recording machine, "in an aging country store...with Son House and his buddies stripped to the waist," in the sweltering and hot Mississippi day. He was there with Willie Brown (guitar), some say it was the same Willie Brown who is mentioned in Robert Johnson's 'Crossroads Blues,'

"You can run, you can run, tell my friend boy Willie Brown,
I am going to the crossroads, believe I am sinking down." - Crossroad Blues, Robert Johnson

Also there was LeRoy Williams (harmonica) and Fiddlin' Joe Martin (Mandolin). As Lomax writes, "..after the bottle had gone round the band, Son House said "Let me sing you about the old-time walking blues.." He began to sing (as the) harmonica puffed like a wild and sorrowful wind, and the guitar beating out a heart stopping rythmn, like trees being torn by their roots....the second guitar picked out the bass-string obbligato to the big country feet that whomped out the rythmn and turned the whole frame building into a huge African drum..the mandolin player..trailed cascades of blue-silver chords that lit up the harmonica's chase...at the center of all this was Son House, a man transformed, no longer the quiet, affable person I had met, but possessed by the song, as Gypsies in Spain are possessed, gone blind by the music and poetry."

And just as the Mississippi River meanders along the delta, so too does the rendition of 'Walking Blues' that Lomax recorded. The verses, flowing for as long as Son House wanted it too. So for nearly 7 minutes, he sings. Unrestrained by Jim Crow and the hard labour, he sings. Slightly influenced by the clear country moonshine, that had gone around, he sings. And with freedom denied them by the Roosevelt Administration, he sings. 

Walking Blues ("thats when you bound to leave somebody, you don't want to, but you gonna go ahead on anyhow"- Son House)

Got up this morning, feeling around for my shoes
No doubt that I go the walking blues
I said I got up this morning, I was feeling round for my shoes
I said I know about that now honey, I got them walking blues

Oh the blues ain't nothing but a low-down shaking chill
If you ain't had 'em, I hope you never will
Lord the blues, is a low-down shaking chill
If ain't had that feeling, boy, Lord I hope you never will

When you get worried, drop me a line
If I don't go crazy, honey, I'm going to lose my mind
When you get worried, I said sit down and drop me a line
If I don't go crazy honey, I'm going to lose my mind

Yeah hair ain't curly, your doggone eyes ain't blue
If you don't want me, what in the world I want with you
Your hair ain't curly, and your doggone eyes ain't blue
I said if you don't want me, babe, what in the world I want with you

Don't a man feel bad, good Lord, when the sun go down
If he don't have nobody to throw his arms around
Yeah a man feel bad, I said, when the, good Lord, sun go down
I said he don't have a soul, not to throw his arms around

Look here baby, what you want me to do
I've done all I could, just to get along with you
Look here honey, what do you want me to do
I say I've done all I could honey, just to get along you

You know I love my baby like a cow love to chew a cud
I'm laying round here, though, I ain't doing no good
I love you honey, like a cow love to chew a cud
I'm laying round here baby, but I sure ain't doing no good

When you're lonely, the minutes seems like hours, hours seem like days
Seem like my baby won't stop her low-down ways
The minutes seem like hours, hours seem like days
It seem like my baby won't stop her low-down ways

I'm going to the gypsy now, and have my fortune told
I believe somebody is stealing my jelly-roll
I'm going to the gypsy, I believe I have my fortune told
'Cause I believe somebody is trying to steal my jelly-roll

I got up this morning, feeling sick and bad
Thinking about the good times that I once had had
I said soon this morning, I was feeling so sick and bad
You know I was thinking about the good times that I once had had

Sun is going down behind that old western hill
Yeah, yeah, Lord, behind that old western hill
Now I wouldn't do nothing boys, not against my woman's will

You know I'm going away, going to stay a long time
I ain't coming back here till you change your mind
I'm going away, I believe I'll stay a long time
I said I ain't coming back, honey, until you change your mind

Enough of me talking. You hear it for yourself. Thats the blues!. One day, I hope I can witness a performance like that too. Meanwhile, Lomax recounts that at least one more song was recorded that summer afternoon, 'Death Letter Blues.' Time to get my hands on that.

Tyger Tyger, burning bright

The Chinese Goverment has recently announced that it would be reviewing a 14-year old ban that prevents captive tigers from being killed for use in traditional medicines. Although China has less than 100 tigers in the wild, it has some 5000 or so in breeding farms. The purpose of these breeding farms is claimed by goverment officals "provide an abundant breeding stock for the future re-introduction and restoration of the wild tiger populations in China." In truth, these farms are stockpiling in anticipation of the goverment repeling the ban.

There is something that is abhorent and disgusting in killing these endagered species for, of all things, these supposed benefits.

1.) tiger's tail - when mixed with soap, a cure for skin cancer

2.) whiskers - according to folk legends, increases courage

3.) tiger's skin - sitting on the skin will cure a fever spread by ghosts (but sitting too long will make the user a ghost too)

4.) tiger's heart - consuming this heart will increases one's courage and cunningness

5.) tiger's penis - this most famous one, offers those who eat it sexual prowess

The list goes on, but you get the picture. If a tiger's has in fact some element of medicinal benefits, then at least the issue can be debated but this is almost senseless. But the Chinese are not alone in this. Across the East Sea from the Chinese border, lies Japan.

Japan is currently lobbying the International Whaling Comission (IWC) to lift the moratorium on commerical whaling since 1982. The Japanese, using the lure of financial and economic aid, pressuriese small Caribbean and African nations to vote to lift the moratorium. It is not that the Japanese do not engage in whaling. In fact, under something known as 'scientific whaling', the Japanese are permitted to hunt whales. This supposed 'scientific' expidition is to collect data on these marine mammals (data such as length, weight, health, etc). Of course, the Japanese are permitted to sell the meat from these catches so as to 'compensate' the 'research institutes' that carry out these kills. But, the most incredible thing must be the fact that the Japanese are persuading to lift the ban so that it can once again start to kill endagered species of Fin whales and Humpback whales.

Once again, arguments for whaling usually come from keeping alive 'traditional' and 'cultural' practices. I am skeptical as to how 'traditional' and 'cultural' practices can be kept alive when the whales and the tigers go extinct.

I am quite certain, that the resumption of killing the tigers and whales will resume in the near future. If it does, it is a testament to humanity's greed, ruthlessness and suspension of rationality for age old myths and traditions. We are the poorer for it.

"Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?" - William Blake, The Tyger (1794)

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American Idol versus Appalachian Idol

The American Idol circus has concluded yet another season. I have forgotten which season this season or who won the latest edition. Rather I should say, I did not bother to remember any details about this season or any of the preceding seasons. I am always puzzled that America- that land which gave to the world, Blues, Jazz, Rock n Roll and Country music needs somehow the glitz and glamour of popular music to vindicate itself, or perhaps it justs needs the millions that American Idol sponsorships and votes bring in. It is not too belittle the thousands of contestants who audition and take part every season, a great majority of them are wonderfully talented. But music, I felt, always has to have a little bit more.

Some years ago I came across this website. Every single video there is a treasure, a wonderful representation of people and their culture. But, some among them are real gems such as the one by folklorist Alan Lomax, Appalachian Journey. Appalachian music or Old-Time music as it may be called predates country music. As the New World was settled by the European settlers, they brought with them their English ballads, polkas and waltzes and when exposed with the poly-rhythms of Africa produced a fantastic strain of music preserved in the mountains of Appalachia that stretched from Quebec in Canada down to the Texan panhandle. As Lomax wonderfully puts it,

"People came bearing strains of the Norse adventurer, the Celtic fantasy, and of the Protestant Revolution that helped to free mankind from the old tyrannies of kings and emperors. And in this grand setting all were influenced by the civilized Cherokee town dwellers who taught them how to grow tobacco and corn and squash. And how to play the mouth bow."

Spend an hour or so to watch it. And listen. Listen to Sheila Adams as she sings that old Scottish tune,

"Black is the colour of my true love's hair. Her cheeks are like the rosy fair.
The prettiest eyes and the daintiest hands. I love the ground whereon she stands."

And listen when Frank Profitt and his banjo tell you when they hanged Tom Dula

"Hang your head Tom Dooley, Its hang your head and cry
Killed Laura Foster, poor boy you're bound to die"

The depth of the music, no matter how many times I watch it sends a warmth through my heart. And it taught me a lot about music. It taught me to listen and listen again. To the music, of the darkened Indian farmer, as he and his buffalo ploughed the rice paddies. To the thin melodies of the Chinese bowed strings as the resonate from Tibetan Himalayas to the Gorges of the Yangtze. To the piercings vocals of Mongolian throat music. To the cante jondo of the Gypsy's Flamenco. Each music, distinctive and unique but all sharing in life's tragedies, triumphs and ironies. And with such wonderful music, what little charm do we see and derive from the music of American Idol and the like (Rockstar Supernova, etc).

American Idol or Appalachian Idol.

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