I am fortunate enough that I have a great deal to be thankful for this year. Some of the things I am thankful for are doubtless things that most of us would recognize as worthy of our gratitude: family and friends, a home to protect me and food to eat, my relationship with God (has its ups and downs) – these are all good places to start.
But I am also thankful for a recent development in my life that I touched on in the previous post, namely a rebirth of my curiosity; and while the other day I wrote about my curiosity with science, today I am fortunate enough to be able to write about a rebirth of my curiosity with language.
To write poetry is to commit to something quite difficult: the poet must negotiate the demands of sound, sense, and structure (to borrow from Perrine) to create something that is beauty and meaning. For me, this negotiation has always begun in the realm of sound: sound has always proposed the terms, sense and structure have always had to meet the terms or compromise. I don’t think that this happens joyfully unless I give sound its free reign to propose what is principally odd – sound does not like to give much heed to sense, and structure it either corrals or deals with.
Thankful for my new willingness to play, I share a couple of the oddities that sound has made for me in recent days:
Words words words – the discus is a mantle-claying crown.
Thus they work in pairs –
They work in pairs to cut hairs.
What bears with caring? – O! I think you are a folly!
To flee one’s purpose, never has poor Time.
Fortunately, every now and then sound carries forth some sense.
Thinking through anything I find interesting, according to the following procedure:
Day 1: introduce a topic.
Days 2-5: explore the topic.
Time limit of 30 minutes to write each entry.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
Science Rocks
I remember an afternoon in high school, at that point in the Earth's solar orbit when the tilt of the Earth's axis begins to favor the Northern Hemisphere, when I sat at a swim meet, waiting for my events and chatting with friends, but by and large reading the illustrated edition of Stephen Hawking's A Brief History of Time. I don't remember anything about the book, except that I was dazzled by computer renderings (this was a fairly new thing) of wormholes and black holes; indeed, I mostly remember the boy, and I have been wondering recently what happened to him.
There might be a tendency, when one becomes "religious", to push against science. After all, science is in the business of explaining things, and God, if God exists, is the holy grail of proof; God is probably the only part of existence that we will never prove or disprove, but as science inches ever closer toward possibly explaining the fundamental workings of the universe, I, as a religious person, often confront a fear that God will be, in the instant of some discovery, erased from the realm of what is possible. I always conclude, however, that this will not happen, and moreover, that a love for God can and does include a love of science.
All that being said, the study of nature is becoming for me once again like Christmas morning. Not that I am the one studying it -- but whenever I get to read about some new scientific discovery I am bedazzled. Recently I ran across a special from the show Nova on PBS called "The Elegant Universe". The special is a couple years old, but it happens to be rather timely still, as string theory, the topic of the special, seems to have been stalled since "The Elegant Universe" aired. Physicists, and not just string theorists, are hoping that some observational breakthroughs will come out of the new large hadron collider that just became operational in Switzerland.
So am I. Having been spoiled by growing up in the 20th century, when massive scientific breakthroughs were happening almost every day, I am a little hungry for something astonishing, like the formation of little miniature black holes, or the disappearance of gravity into what seems to be nothingness. But even simple things are fascinating: yesterday my girlfriend and I were talking about her experience at some hot springs -- the idea that you can take a bath in water that is heated by the center of the earth blows my mind; medical researchers are looking at various uses for snail poison; sunflowers detoxify the land that they grow in; and mathematicians can actually figure out that the laws of physics break down during the Big Bang.
It's just cool to let scientists send you on a mind trip.
There might be a tendency, when one becomes "religious", to push against science. After all, science is in the business of explaining things, and God, if God exists, is the holy grail of proof; God is probably the only part of existence that we will never prove or disprove, but as science inches ever closer toward possibly explaining the fundamental workings of the universe, I, as a religious person, often confront a fear that God will be, in the instant of some discovery, erased from the realm of what is possible. I always conclude, however, that this will not happen, and moreover, that a love for God can and does include a love of science.
All that being said, the study of nature is becoming for me once again like Christmas morning. Not that I am the one studying it -- but whenever I get to read about some new scientific discovery I am bedazzled. Recently I ran across a special from the show Nova on PBS called "The Elegant Universe". The special is a couple years old, but it happens to be rather timely still, as string theory, the topic of the special, seems to have been stalled since "The Elegant Universe" aired. Physicists, and not just string theorists, are hoping that some observational breakthroughs will come out of the new large hadron collider that just became operational in Switzerland.
So am I. Having been spoiled by growing up in the 20th century, when massive scientific breakthroughs were happening almost every day, I am a little hungry for something astonishing, like the formation of little miniature black holes, or the disappearance of gravity into what seems to be nothingness. But even simple things are fascinating: yesterday my girlfriend and I were talking about her experience at some hot springs -- the idea that you can take a bath in water that is heated by the center of the earth blows my mind; medical researchers are looking at various uses for snail poison; sunflowers detoxify the land that they grow in; and mathematicians can actually figure out that the laws of physics break down during the Big Bang.
It's just cool to let scientists send you on a mind trip.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
God of Judgment or God of Justice
I think that we have missed a major point in the Gospels: God is better than we give her credit for. We still attend to the God of the Pharisees, God casting judgment rather than God bringing about justice. What is the difference?
To cast judgment (and we are not talking here in the sense of good judgment versus poor judgment) is to prescribe a punishment for an action. To bring about justice (now we are more talking about judging rightly versus judging wrongly) is to affirm the dignity of all persons without exception.
Jesus makes this idea of justice clear in many Gospel stories, sayings, clarifications; I think that he most clearly distinguishes justice and the law in his teachings about the Sabbath. A Jew was not to violate the Sabbath by doing work; but there are several stories in the various Gospels in which Jesus cures people on the Sabbath, and he says essentially that it is better to work for good on the Sabbath than to be idle while evil flourishes. His most pithy comment on the matter, "the Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath," denounces the preeminence of the law when the law would harm rather than help the person.
The Catholic Church seems sometimes to favor its own laws over the dignity of the human being. We ought to make sure that we are making and remaking a church that upholds our dignity, that we are not making and remaking ourselves to conform to the Church.
To cast judgment (and we are not talking here in the sense of good judgment versus poor judgment) is to prescribe a punishment for an action. To bring about justice (now we are more talking about judging rightly versus judging wrongly) is to affirm the dignity of all persons without exception.
Jesus makes this idea of justice clear in many Gospel stories, sayings, clarifications; I think that he most clearly distinguishes justice and the law in his teachings about the Sabbath. A Jew was not to violate the Sabbath by doing work; but there are several stories in the various Gospels in which Jesus cures people on the Sabbath, and he says essentially that it is better to work for good on the Sabbath than to be idle while evil flourishes. His most pithy comment on the matter, "the Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath," denounces the preeminence of the law when the law would harm rather than help the person.
The Catholic Church seems sometimes to favor its own laws over the dignity of the human being. We ought to make sure that we are making and remaking a church that upholds our dignity, that we are not making and remaking ourselves to conform to the Church.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
The Perpetual Virginity of Mary
I am a committed Catholic, and one of the things that I would like to do in this blog is explore some of the thornier contentions that the Church maintains in its dogma. Surely many Christians know that the Catholic Church teaches that Mary was a virgin eternally, despite her becoming pregnant with Jesus, her giving birth to him, and her being married to Joseph. I believe with absolutely no qualms in the virginal conception. I would, however, like to ask a question about Mary’s remaining a virgin even after giving birth to Jesus and despite her being married to Joseph – why is this important? And if it is not important, then why would it matter to God?
As to the first question, only one answer strikes me as being valid, that virginity is more pure than is marriage (marriage, of course, implies sexual intercourse); Mary would then be pure as pure can be, only marrying out of obedience to the will of God, so that Jesus would be raised by a mother and father, and remaining undefiled by sex forever; and Mary would then be capable of our adoration.
The logical extension of this reasoning into our lives as Christians seems to me to be pernicious. Here is a family every member of which we look to for guidance in our own lives – the Holy Family exemplifies loving parents who raise a loving and obedient child. If we cannot see our own marriages as loving in the same way that that marriage was loving, how can we look on our families without disdain?
This is to say nothing of the Church teachings about marriage and sex. The Church teaches that sexual intercourse is one of, if not the, greatest and most mysterious gifts that God has given to us; marriage is one of the sacraments and the foundation of a good society. Is it possible, then, to reconcile the idea that virginity is more pure than un-virginity with the idea that sex is one of God’s greatest gifts to humanity? Is it possible, then, to reconcile the idea that the most important marriage that ever was was non-sexual with the idea that sexual, child-rearing marriages are sacramental and are the foundation of our society?
I don’t know the answers to these questions, although I suspect that in both cases the answer is “no.” The only thing that I do think I know for sure is that if God exists, God thinks love is very important, and that if anything is superfluous to love, it is not important to God.
As to the first question, only one answer strikes me as being valid, that virginity is more pure than is marriage (marriage, of course, implies sexual intercourse); Mary would then be pure as pure can be, only marrying out of obedience to the will of God, so that Jesus would be raised by a mother and father, and remaining undefiled by sex forever; and Mary would then be capable of our adoration.
The logical extension of this reasoning into our lives as Christians seems to me to be pernicious. Here is a family every member of which we look to for guidance in our own lives – the Holy Family exemplifies loving parents who raise a loving and obedient child. If we cannot see our own marriages as loving in the same way that that marriage was loving, how can we look on our families without disdain?
This is to say nothing of the Church teachings about marriage and sex. The Church teaches that sexual intercourse is one of, if not the, greatest and most mysterious gifts that God has given to us; marriage is one of the sacraments and the foundation of a good society. Is it possible, then, to reconcile the idea that virginity is more pure than un-virginity with the idea that sex is one of God’s greatest gifts to humanity? Is it possible, then, to reconcile the idea that the most important marriage that ever was was non-sexual with the idea that sexual, child-rearing marriages are sacramental and are the foundation of our society?
I don’t know the answers to these questions, although I suspect that in both cases the answer is “no.” The only thing that I do think I know for sure is that if God exists, God thinks love is very important, and that if anything is superfluous to love, it is not important to God.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Economics of Vegetarianism
Over the past several years I have gone through different iterations of what could sometimes be called vegetarianism. My avoidance of eating meat began once I had learned only two basic facts: 1) that the industrialized meat industry is a major source of environmental degradation, and 2) that the industrialized meat industry consumes far more calories than it puts out. There are complicating factors, most of which are well-known: the industrialized meat industry does not treat animals well; eating meat is, by its nature, possible only after a certain amount of violence; eating meat in the quantities typical of the average American diet can contribute to colon cancer and heart disease, amongst other health problems; and the list continues. Michael Pollan has written a lot recently to teach us about food, and Mark Bittman wrote a very good article in January that summarizes the case against industrialized meat production; refer to them for more thorough information.
In my own experiments as a vegetarian, I have often thought about the concept in terms of straightforward supply-and-demand economics. Vegetarianism is a no-vote against the industrialized meat industry because it seeks to eliminate the demand for meat.
But vegetarianism also has its problems. I am thinking particularly about the way in which the vegetarian food industry substitutes animal proteins with manufactured high-protein-content faux “meats”. There is also the issue of iron deficiency, particularly in women, and the resulting anemia.
So what would happen if we only ate a little bit of meat once in a while, rather than a large portion of meat two times per day? What if we ate two ounces of meat 100 times per year rather than eight ounces of meat 700 times per year? These are just hypothetical numbers, but they create a good example: the difference is a drop in per capita meat consumption from 5600 ounces per year to 200 ounces per year, a decrease of over 96%.
If your concerns as a vegetarian focus largely on the industrialization of meat production, you should be able to eat a little bit of meat once in a while. Industrial production depends on economies of scale, and no industry can withstand such an evisceration of demand. A small demand throughout the country, however, would encourage localized, small-scale meat production; and the consumer would have more control over food.
In my own experiments as a vegetarian, I have often thought about the concept in terms of straightforward supply-and-demand economics. Vegetarianism is a no-vote against the industrialized meat industry because it seeks to eliminate the demand for meat.
But vegetarianism also has its problems. I am thinking particularly about the way in which the vegetarian food industry substitutes animal proteins with manufactured high-protein-content faux “meats”. There is also the issue of iron deficiency, particularly in women, and the resulting anemia.
So what would happen if we only ate a little bit of meat once in a while, rather than a large portion of meat two times per day? What if we ate two ounces of meat 100 times per year rather than eight ounces of meat 700 times per year? These are just hypothetical numbers, but they create a good example: the difference is a drop in per capita meat consumption from 5600 ounces per year to 200 ounces per year, a decrease of over 96%.
If your concerns as a vegetarian focus largely on the industrialization of meat production, you should be able to eat a little bit of meat once in a while. Industrial production depends on economies of scale, and no industry can withstand such an evisceration of demand. A small demand throughout the country, however, would encourage localized, small-scale meat production; and the consumer would have more control over food.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Art, Andy Weeks
Visual art uniquely challenges the reader’s willingness to confront immediate beauty in an intellectual space. This is to suggest that, while to hear music is to confront immediate beauty; and while to read or to hear literature spoken aloud is to constantly analyze, all the while expecting that the finished poem or story will satisfy our desire to know beauty that is a culmination fought for; art challenges us to analyze its elements but does not withhold from us some kind of coherent impact in the very moment we glimpse it. Or, at least, so as not to seem pedantic, I think that my favorite art does this.
I am very impressed with an artist currently living, a youngish man named Andy Weeks. Now, there is a bit of disclosure necessary if I am going to talk about him: he is a friend of mine. He happens, however, to be one of my more talented friends, and you can judge for yourself whether I write wrongly or rightly that he is maturing into a remarkable painter: www.andyweeks.net. I recently saw his painting Brooklyn 1 at a show. It would be in an inaccessibly relative comment to say that it was the standout piece; so I will add to that by saying that the painting is realistic, charming, atmospheric, and elegant. Andy is deft with line and, while he is dealing with a place that actually exists (the view is of a building from the Brooklyn Bridge), he is not afraid to give precedence to the formal composition of line and color, allowing composition to impinge ever so slightly on realism. One of the loveliest aspects of the painting is the strip of shiny wet road that bends towards the painting’s dominant point, a massive brown building. In person, I could see that the extremely realistic shininess of the road was accomplished with a few simple blotches of white-gray paint that were offset by some sharp lines of shadow. And Mr. Weeks has subtly favored an angle in place of a presumably straight foundation for this building. The angle points us back to the road and to a tree that almost billows up.
Many of the great masters of painting that we admire today used simple tools; only they used them with care – one might say that they dignified the medium by being precise enough with it that it would give their vision its full power.
I am very impressed with an artist currently living, a youngish man named Andy Weeks. Now, there is a bit of disclosure necessary if I am going to talk about him: he is a friend of mine. He happens, however, to be one of my more talented friends, and you can judge for yourself whether I write wrongly or rightly that he is maturing into a remarkable painter: www.andyweeks.net. I recently saw his painting Brooklyn 1 at a show. It would be in an inaccessibly relative comment to say that it was the standout piece; so I will add to that by saying that the painting is realistic, charming, atmospheric, and elegant. Andy is deft with line and, while he is dealing with a place that actually exists (the view is of a building from the Brooklyn Bridge), he is not afraid to give precedence to the formal composition of line and color, allowing composition to impinge ever so slightly on realism. One of the loveliest aspects of the painting is the strip of shiny wet road that bends towards the painting’s dominant point, a massive brown building. In person, I could see that the extremely realistic shininess of the road was accomplished with a few simple blotches of white-gray paint that were offset by some sharp lines of shadow. And Mr. Weeks has subtly favored an angle in place of a presumably straight foundation for this building. The angle points us back to the road and to a tree that almost billows up.
Many of the great masters of painting that we admire today used simple tools; only they used them with care – one might say that they dignified the medium by being precise enough with it that it would give their vision its full power.