A week ago I was at a Panera near Cal State Fullerton. I passed by a woman wearing a hijab. I might've paused half a second. She noticed me, and perhaps noticed the pause. I wondered how she had interpreted it. Did she give it any thought? Is she used to it? It passed, though it lingered. I had a vague sense of guilt or sorrow about the whole thing.
How does one go up to someone and say:
I looked at you, but did not intend to gawk. I looked at you not because I am a fearful reactionary, nor because I'm an objectifying male. I perhaps looked without any present emotions, because I wasn't really looking at you. But you weren't an abstraction of a race or a faith. You were an echo of a specific person I had met in college, a woman who I didn't really know, and still don't, but who, ten years after we had graduated, had engaged me in a conversation that convinced me that we understood each other and our younger selves better.
I look at you, or through you, to the past, and realize that I had never talked with her about the hijab, though she had explained at the beginning of school (coincidentally, a few days before September 11) that it represented modesty, though then, and now, I did not know if it represented an act of modesty or itself served as a reminder, a totem, to be modest in our endeavors.
I had not talked with her about faith, or family, or hardly anything. A small school can seem so impossibly vast sometimes.
And now I did not see you, or her. I saw an idea -- that the people I had met, I had treated as representatives of types, used them to understand the identity or identities they claimed, or disclaimed, or reclaimed. And too, too often, I didn't see the person.
And yet how grateful I am, that I have pokemoned my way to some rude decency and understanding, that I would find it at least somewhat difficult to ascribe broad traits to swaths of society. Grateful at good moments -- smugly self-satisfied at worse moments -- and dangerously vulnerable and reactionary on matters of identity in the worst moments of all. But my judgment seems somewhat sane, even if my advocacy is timid.
To know how a person values and weighs their identities, which ones are superordinate or subordinate, how contextual is that ranking, how unstable and self-contradictory are the weights in the expression of thought or deed, I might have to know them better than I have known any person. Perhaps I wouldn't be equal to the task. Perhaps it would destroy the relationship; there is, of course, a difference between empathy and dissection.
When I go into the world, am I the example floating in someone's mind of the Japanese ethnicity? Or of a scientist, laughable as that possibility seems to me? Maybe. And maybe that knowledge will, or should, change me.
This is a bizarre and self-indulgent entry, even by the standards of this blog. And yet, the gulf between the dominant identities I carry around within my own head and those projected onto me is probably the source of most of my major failings.
So to the person of the past -- I'm sorry we never had a chat about you, or what you wanted me, or others, to know. I neither want to assume that these fifteen years, or thirty years, have been difficult for you, nor communicate that a complicated and variegated sense of self can or should be summed up in any one aspect of external appearance, even, and perhaps especially, clothing. And yet I fear that I have abstracted away the actual you.
And to the stranger of the present, thank you for setting my thoughts along a different course, one that will hopefully get me out of my headspace and into the world.
The lines and internet are always slow there, at the Panera.
The lines and internal thoughts are always slow here.
Showing posts with label religion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label religion. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 27, 2016
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
O Magnum Mysterium
This is beautiful, in part, because I don't understand the words.
When I first fell in love with astronomy, it was in this way. It was the stately beauty of Neptune, taken with precious little energy at the far reaches of the solar system. It was the eerie beauty of a sequence of Messier objects, representing a bizarre diversity, even by the standards of a child growing up in the modern world.
I fell in love before i knew what I was falling in love with.
With time, I began to tease apart those amazing structures. I learned the calculus that allowed me to express, in partial elegance, with partial clarity, the nature of stars. I learned the physics that gave me the beginnings of the understandings of the depth behind these things. I even learned a bit of computer programming, that I might better participate in peeling back the curtain of the unknown.
And somewhere along the way, I lost that wonder. I lost the ability to look, and just see what my eyes see, and not the questions, and work, and challenges behind those high resolution images.
Some can do so. For some, the odd combination of challenge and complexity, wedded with a firm belief that understanding is possible, gives a richer sense of beauty. These people enjoy a long, happy marriage to space -- not without its challenges. But they still feel enough to work at the relationship and find new, mature beauty as the relationship continues.
I was not. I found its very comprehensibility, and my limits at comprehension, too harsh. It was that, or it was other things -- opportunity cost, more terrestrial thoughts, hopes, and fears. So we ended our relationship, and unlike some, I never looked back and missed it. Those feelings were just gone.
And so I enjoy this song, and do not seek to look up its lyrics. For the unknown itself is what I find alluring, as long as it remains, unknown.
Maybe this is why, despite the best efforts of relatives and my therapist, I don't seek a greater connection to God. For when I do, I find my interest torn asunder by questions of doctrine, historical origins, temporal contamination of divine intent, Biblical literalism, and the like. I can only appreciate faith from a distance, and so there is where I remain, and where I am happiest.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Science fiction, Ender's Game, and the nature of art
An excellent article:
Before he became a voice of the American right, Orson Scott Card wrote a really good book.
I wasn't aware of the controversy surrounding Orson Scott Card when he gave the 2003 commencement speech at Harvey Mudd. At the time, I hadn't even read Ender's Game. But I did read it, eventually, and loved it -- it rivals Dune as my favorite science fiction book of all time. (Sorry Foundation, but I think you'll be stuck with third billing.) It even made my 15 most influential books list. (Dune is absent.)
I am a firm believer that all good science fiction illuminates something about us as human beings. Often, it tricks us into thinking about psychology, or philosophy, or justice. It dazzles with an exotic setting or technology, or even different rules of physics, to get us to suspend our disbelief. And with that belief suspended, with our defenses lowered, we can more honestly look at ourselves, our societies, and our past than in any other art form.
Disarmed, we learn, even as we are treated to a fantastic story.
So it is with Ender's Game. How else could we view children as potential murderers? When I read A Long Way Gone: Memories of a Child Soldier, I brought along all my mental baggage and assumptions about Africa, foreign conflict, resource wars, and recent world history. And as well-written and powerful as it was, I wasn't fully able to immerse myself into the world of war-torn Sierra Leone, as seen through the eyes of a child. It was still a bit alien to me, because it was real.
But in Ender's Game, it seems more plausible, almost natural that the selection process and jealousy inspired by Ender's rise would lead to murderous impulses. And it seems equally natural that Ender, a fundamentally good boy, would kill, twice, to protect himself. It also seems plausible that adults would manipulate the circumstances to force this test of his mettle -- because we knew, as children, how adults manipulated us all the time, and not always for our own benefit.
So it's tragic, but it's true: I can better empathize with this boy in a science fiction novel than a real boy in the real world telling me about the real horrors of war.
Ender's Game treats children as equal to adults. The children are bright; sometimes, they are brighter than the adults. They learn, adapt, and strategize. They engage in war games, and, as we find out, real warfare. They feel emotions that are sometimes as sophisticated as those of an adult.
The sci-fi elements also help break down that wall between child and adult. In zero-g, standard measures of strength and size matter less, and a child can be the equal of an adult in combat. Those of us who read the book remember vividly the scene where Ender shouts triumphantly at Graff in the zero-g room. "I beat you! I beat you!"
But Graff held the wand that unfroze Ender. It was impossible to beat the adults.
And that is how they remain children. Unlike a lot of lesser children's literature, it doesn't make kids adults, or make the adults kids. The children of Ender's Game are capable and brilliant. But they are still subject to the control of adults. The adults determine their lives, even as those same adults place the fate of humanity in the hands of those same children.
***
So what about the politics of Orson Scott Card? Should that color how we view this book? How can we enjoy it fully if we know that this man campaigns actively against the identity of some of the same children who find, in his book, some strength and security from the complexity and hostility of real life?
For this the tragedy of Ender's Game. Or, it is the triumph of that book to transcend its author and become something else.
Ender's Game means a whole lot to precocious, nerdy children. I didn't have the privilege of finding this in my youth. But a lot of my Mudd friends did read it as children and young adults, and credit it for being both entertaining and inspirational. Some said it helped them deal with the ways adults usually treat children, especially bright, precocious ones.
And, yes, some were gay.
How ironic that it helped gay men and women, bright as hell, deal with misunderstanding long enough to break out and become who they were meant to be!
Except that it's not ironic at all: that's how art works.
Sometimes, a book (including That One), can become agents of change in ways directly contrary to the author's intent. That's what happens when art is created. It no longer belongs to the artist -- it belongs to us. All of us. (Especially That One.)
Ender's Game now belongs to my gay friends, and there's not a damn thing Orson Scott Card can do about it.
Saturday, September 15, 2012
For M, an old friend
Once, long ago, when the world was young and I was happy, well before 9/11, I had a friend. I'll call him M for this post.
M was a friend of mine since at least third grade, and perhaps earlier. But we were pretty close, at least as close as I was to anyone. We'd play stupid games at recess, and his sense of humor always made me laugh.
I knew M was Egyptian, and, if I thought about it at all, I assumed he was a Muslim. (I learned about Islam -or at least a brief history and a bit about the Five Pillars - in 7th grade history class.) But at some point he told me he was a Coptic Christian. I didn't really know what that meant at the time, and to some extent, I really don't know now.
M had pretty extreme conservative views, and I didn't know why. I assumed it was because he came from a fairly well-off family. His father was a nuclear engineer. But with his humor, there was a bitterness, and an anger.
At some point, he told me why. A number of his relatives, including some uncles, had been killed by the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt.
As a result, he carried a strong hatred of Islam. I still didn't quite know what that meant - I had no similar experiences, and I was too naive or stupid to really probe and asked him how he reconciled an Arab identity that has become tied to Islam.
We didn't really talk after high school; I saw him once at a BBQ just after college, and found out he was studying political science.
I didn't really think of him much in the following years, not even when the Arab Spring came to Egypt. But after the news identified the alleged filmmaker of the recent anti-Islam Youtube movie as a Coptic Christian, I started thinking about M. I remembered his anger, and could imagine that he would sympathize with, or actively promote, such a movie.
But I also hope that he and that his family is safe. I remember an image of Christians linking arms to protect Muslims praying in or near Tahrir Square. But memory of unity is fleeting, and Coptic Christians are now in greater danger.
I loathe the idea that a fool could make a movie, knowing full well the possible consequences. But the whole point of this ongoing tragedy is that a few individuals do not represent a faith, or a culture. Not for Coptic Christians. Not for Muslims. And not for Americans.
M, hope you're well. Politically, we're probably pretty far apart - perhaps to the point that friendship is nearly impossible. But I miss the times we had in grade school, and the jokes we'd exchange in econ class.
M was a friend of mine since at least third grade, and perhaps earlier. But we were pretty close, at least as close as I was to anyone. We'd play stupid games at recess, and his sense of humor always made me laugh.
I knew M was Egyptian, and, if I thought about it at all, I assumed he was a Muslim. (I learned about Islam -or at least a brief history and a bit about the Five Pillars - in 7th grade history class.) But at some point he told me he was a Coptic Christian. I didn't really know what that meant at the time, and to some extent, I really don't know now.
M had pretty extreme conservative views, and I didn't know why. I assumed it was because he came from a fairly well-off family. His father was a nuclear engineer. But with his humor, there was a bitterness, and an anger.
At some point, he told me why. A number of his relatives, including some uncles, had been killed by the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt.
As a result, he carried a strong hatred of Islam. I still didn't quite know what that meant - I had no similar experiences, and I was too naive or stupid to really probe and asked him how he reconciled an Arab identity that has become tied to Islam.
We didn't really talk after high school; I saw him once at a BBQ just after college, and found out he was studying political science.
I didn't really think of him much in the following years, not even when the Arab Spring came to Egypt. But after the news identified the alleged filmmaker of the recent anti-Islam Youtube movie as a Coptic Christian, I started thinking about M. I remembered his anger, and could imagine that he would sympathize with, or actively promote, such a movie.
But I also hope that he and that his family is safe. I remember an image of Christians linking arms to protect Muslims praying in or near Tahrir Square. But memory of unity is fleeting, and Coptic Christians are now in greater danger.
I loathe the idea that a fool could make a movie, knowing full well the possible consequences. But the whole point of this ongoing tragedy is that a few individuals do not represent a faith, or a culture. Not for Coptic Christians. Not for Muslims. And not for Americans.
M, hope you're well. Politically, we're probably pretty far apart - perhaps to the point that friendship is nearly impossible. But I miss the times we had in grade school, and the jokes we'd exchange in econ class.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Throwing in the towel and trying to believe in God
Couldn't sleep. Tried being angry at certain friends for trying to check me into a mental hospital three months ago (a long story, perhaps worth writing at some point), then tried forgiving. Tried reading and watching comedy. Tried paranoia, and video games, and eating ice cream. The long and short of it is that, at this point, I've decided to throw in the towel. Against the vestiges of what remains of my judgment, and even against part of what remains of my principles, I'm going to try to believe in God. Sorta.
I wish I could say it's because I have faith. I have none. I know enough religious history to see the flaws in basing one's beliefs on a text written two thousand years ago that was definitely a product of its time and place. Probably will have to throw out Leviticus completely, and possibly most of the Old Testament. I'd probably be a Unitarian if I hadn't found the service structure in Ithaca so bizarre.
But I know I've got to believe in something beyond myself.
No, it's because of exhaustion. Sheer, utter exhaustion about my current life. Mom has worn me down with her mysticism/spiritualism. Besides, too many atheists I know are a bit too self-righteous about their lack of faith.
I think a key difference is that they have a greater sense of control over their own destiny and future than I do. I'm pretty helpless right now; I don't have confidence in my sanity or my ability to do anything non-destructive. Consequently, it doesn't really make a difference to me whether an all-powerful entity is making me experience what in my mind is Job-lite suffering, or if it's a matter of brain chemistry, collapsing wavefunctions, and psychohistory.
Part of it is that I hate the part of myself that placed a barrier between me and a couple of my cousins. Though we have very different views on homosexuality, Biblical literalism, and politics, they've always been there for me in ways others haven't been. They've demonstrated courage and character in their own lives, and been excellent fathers. In case you haven't noticed, father issues are kind of a big deal for me.
I sometimes misinterpreted their kindness as a desire to convert, and not genuine love and affection for their youngest cousin. It's more telling of my own problems trusting people that I took it that way, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Lance and Warren, for judging you less on your relationships with me and more by what you called yourselves.
I don't plan on adpoting that anti-gay nonsense. Believe me, I seriously considered "coming out" to my family just to try and trigger some thought. But it's just not in me (pun intended). Besides, I know some great gay guys who have been tremendous emotional supports. One guy lives in Germany, and yet took the time - on his birthday - to write a lengthy, heartfelt note to me, expressing concern about what I've gone through with my dad and my recent life struggles.
And no bullshit socioeconomics couched in religious determinism. Really, from what little I know of Satanism, it is philosophically similar to Objectivism.
But I am cutting back on the politics. Honestly, I'm no good to anyone while I'm struggling with depression, joblessness, and generalized despair.
I've felt that it's a bit selfish and weak to try belief simply because life is going poorly. But I suppose that's me being judgmental. Things are going poorly enough that maybe I don't have the luxury of waiting for genuine faith.
I also wonder whether I would have reached this point had I a better natural support network - more accurately, if I were better able to reach out and make and keep friends I trusted. Church can seen to be a bit lazier in that regard. But so are filters on OkCupid, or anything other than completely random encounters. I'm presently isolated from all pre-fab communities, and the church is one I'm most familiar with. I don't know if, or when, it will translate into attendance - my own shame is a barrier.
Finally, I know that faith isn't at its best when taken a la carte. Will I be forced to swallow Leviticus as the price for embracing the Parable of the Sower? Can I reconcile the sometimes atheistic existentialist nature of Ecclesiastes with the rest of the Bible? These lack of consistencies, either within the Bible or with my own sense of morality, once led me away from belief, and it may do so again.
But I know, as do most of you, that one of my weaknesses is thinking too much about the wrong things, or without resolution. Analysis without action.
I don't know if this very reluctant plod toward belief will stick, or make a difference. But what the hell. It's possibly this or shoot myself, and while some might prefer the latter, I'm a bit too cowardly to attempt that yet.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Santa Monica, Faith, and the Great Recession
Today I write about the showdown in Santa Monica about Nativity Displays. A coalition of atheists has managed to secure the vast majority of permits for lots in a Santa Monica park, historically dedicated to nativity displays. It looks like yet another showdown between Christians and atheists. But I believe this is a great opportunity masquerading as a crisis. All parties currently involved, and those on the sidelines, to take the opportunity to use that space to serve those hardest hit by economic downturn.
I respect both the desire to celebrate faith and the desire to defend one’s right to not believe. As someone with scientific training and a religious upbringing, I’ve lived in both worlds, among both peoples. And I’ve found remarkable degrees of both compassion and rigid thinking in both camps. I have treasured friends and family members entrenched in both camps who each, in their way, demonstrate the great virtues of courage, compassion, and generosity. For them, I write this appeal.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if something positive could come of this? What if the churches used this as an opportunity to reassess the value of spending thousands on nativity scenes, and choose, at least this time, to use that money for a living testament to Christian faith? What if, in turn, the atheist organization used this opportunity to humanize their cause, to demonstrate that an absence of God does not mean an absence of values – perhaps one of the most vehement arguments leveled against atheists? What if, given the option between confrontation and cooperation, these two camps chose to spend their efforts fighting the poverty that now grips Santa Monica and our country in general?
I propose that the coming fights and lawsuits be abandoned, in favor of a hunger luncheon, sponsored by people of all faiths, and those of no faith, dedicated to the common cause of alleviating poverty and hunger in Santa Monica this season.
Churches have not been immune to the downturn. Though the bankruptcy of Crystal Cathedral ministries might be the most conspicuous victim, many smaller churches have struggled. Yet in the face of the hard times, some churches, reaffirming their values and recognizing an increased need, have actually increased their efforts to provide food assistance and shelter. Here is the opportunity once again to demonstrate the tradition of giving and service that is both in keeping with the spirit of the season and the finest traditions of the faith, admired by those of any creed.
The atheist coalition has already scored a valuable coup in securing the permits and space. But what will come of it? Will a large display of one community’s values be supplanted by another’s? And will this continue a trend whereby any space must be contested, lest an opposing view take it? Or, perhaps, will the opportunity be seized in order to make the point that social service need not be necessarily tied to a specific religious faith? I can think of no greater way to demonstrate the virtues of their cause than by graciously working with others to host a hunger lunch.
Santa Monica is a city whose recent history has seen controversy regarding its attitudes and approaches toward homelessness. It is also, from what I can tell, unusual, if not unique, in its use of an annual Homeless Count, currently scheduled for January 25, to monitor and track trends of homelessness and the effectiveness of its policies to alleviate it. Here is an opportunity to reaffirm its commitment to help those most at-risk in its community.
Our nation is tired of wars of bombs and words. We can scarcely afford either. And it has been known since the beginning of religion and philosophy that one cannot preach effectively to a hungry person. Feed the hungry, and then, if necessary, make the case for your cause.
This season belongs to everyone. So, too, do the poor. Here’s hoping Santa will bring Santa Monica the gift of common purpose.
I respect both the desire to celebrate faith and the desire to defend one’s right to not believe. As someone with scientific training and a religious upbringing, I’ve lived in both worlds, among both peoples. And I’ve found remarkable degrees of both compassion and rigid thinking in both camps. I have treasured friends and family members entrenched in both camps who each, in their way, demonstrate the great virtues of courage, compassion, and generosity. For them, I write this appeal.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if something positive could come of this? What if the churches used this as an opportunity to reassess the value of spending thousands on nativity scenes, and choose, at least this time, to use that money for a living testament to Christian faith? What if, in turn, the atheist organization used this opportunity to humanize their cause, to demonstrate that an absence of God does not mean an absence of values – perhaps one of the most vehement arguments leveled against atheists? What if, given the option between confrontation and cooperation, these two camps chose to spend their efforts fighting the poverty that now grips Santa Monica and our country in general?
I propose that the coming fights and lawsuits be abandoned, in favor of a hunger luncheon, sponsored by people of all faiths, and those of no faith, dedicated to the common cause of alleviating poverty and hunger in Santa Monica this season.
Churches have not been immune to the downturn. Though the bankruptcy of Crystal Cathedral ministries might be the most conspicuous victim, many smaller churches have struggled. Yet in the face of the hard times, some churches, reaffirming their values and recognizing an increased need, have actually increased their efforts to provide food assistance and shelter. Here is the opportunity once again to demonstrate the tradition of giving and service that is both in keeping with the spirit of the season and the finest traditions of the faith, admired by those of any creed.
The atheist coalition has already scored a valuable coup in securing the permits and space. But what will come of it? Will a large display of one community’s values be supplanted by another’s? And will this continue a trend whereby any space must be contested, lest an opposing view take it? Or, perhaps, will the opportunity be seized in order to make the point that social service need not be necessarily tied to a specific religious faith? I can think of no greater way to demonstrate the virtues of their cause than by graciously working with others to host a hunger lunch.
Santa Monica is a city whose recent history has seen controversy regarding its attitudes and approaches toward homelessness. It is also, from what I can tell, unusual, if not unique, in its use of an annual Homeless Count, currently scheduled for January 25, to monitor and track trends of homelessness and the effectiveness of its policies to alleviate it. Here is an opportunity to reaffirm its commitment to help those most at-risk in its community.
Our nation is tired of wars of bombs and words. We can scarcely afford either. And it has been known since the beginning of religion and philosophy that one cannot preach effectively to a hungry person. Feed the hungry, and then, if necessary, make the case for your cause.
This season belongs to everyone. So, too, do the poor. Here’s hoping Santa will bring Santa Monica the gift of common purpose.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
United Methodist Sermon on gay rights
(This is a sermon I have not yet given before a congregation. But I present it here, with the hope it may be of value to the congregation of friends, religious or not, I am privileged to know. -R)
The Lord be with you. (And also with you.)
Today’s story comes from the headline news. On Monday night, Anderson Cooper interviewed Andrew Shirvell, who is an assistant attorney general for the state of Michigan. Mr. Shirvell has created a blog, in which he singles out and attacks the student body president of the University of Michigan at Ann Arbor, a 21-year old openly gay man named Chris Armstrong. On his blog, titled “Chris Armstrong Watch”, Shirvell has called him a “radical homosexual activist”, a “racist, elitist, and liar”, and “Nazi-like”. Shirvell has also called him “Satan’s representative on the Student Assembly”, and depicted him with a multicolored peace flag on which appears a Nazi swastika. He attacked the reputation of Armstrong’s friends and family, and protested outside of his residence.
The Lord be with you. (And also with you.)
Today’s story comes from the headline news. On Monday night, Anderson Cooper interviewed Andrew Shirvell, who is an assistant attorney general for the state of Michigan. Mr. Shirvell has created a blog, in which he singles out and attacks the student body president of the University of Michigan at Ann Arbor, a 21-year old openly gay man named Chris Armstrong. On his blog, titled “Chris Armstrong Watch”, Shirvell has called him a “radical homosexual activist”, a “racist, elitist, and liar”, and “Nazi-like”. Shirvell has also called him “Satan’s representative on the Student Assembly”, and depicted him with a multicolored peace flag on which appears a Nazi swastika. He attacked the reputation of Armstrong’s friends and family, and protested outside of his residence.
Friday, August 20, 2010
What Cordoba really means to me
Olbermann's comments about Park 51:"There is no 'Ground Zero Mosque'"
Until now, I never really read much Olbermann or had reason to quote him. But he's right about this.
I can confirm, from my memories of Medieval History class, that the characterization of "Cordoba" by Newt Gingrich misses the point.
"Cordoba" is, in part, a microcosm of the history of Islam - it's bloody civil wars, its rise under relative prosperity, the stagnation that accompanies a large and diverse empire, and the collapse when the previous regime is seen as decadent, to be replaced by progressively more extreme and reactionary forms of governance. It’s a fascinating history – if nothing else, the journey of Abd ar-Rahman I, the last surviving member of the Umayyad dynasty fleeing Damascus in the face of revolt and murder and flight to Al-Andalus, as the region was known under Muslim rule, is worth reading just for its drama.
Until now, I never really read much Olbermann or had reason to quote him. But he's right about this.
I can confirm, from my memories of Medieval History class, that the characterization of "Cordoba" by Newt Gingrich misses the point.
"Cordoba" is, in part, a microcosm of the history of Islam - it's bloody civil wars, its rise under relative prosperity, the stagnation that accompanies a large and diverse empire, and the collapse when the previous regime is seen as decadent, to be replaced by progressively more extreme and reactionary forms of governance. It’s a fascinating history – if nothing else, the journey of Abd ar-Rahman I, the last surviving member of the Umayyad dynasty fleeing Damascus in the face of revolt and murder and flight to Al-Andalus, as the region was known under Muslim rule, is worth reading just for its drama.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Working through some thoughts on faith and purpose
"Character may be manifested in the great moments, but it is made in the small ones." - Phillips Brooks
I’ve been thinking about the words of Phillips Brooks for some time. It’s amazing how an Episcopalian minister from 19th century Massachusetts can still touch lost seekers.
There is nothing I have found from science that compares. Science can provide drama, mystery, and grandeur, but it, and its practitioners, neither acknowledge nor touch the soul.
I love my former colleagues, more than they will ever know. That is why it breaks my heart when I consider the cynicism, the hate, and the fundamental fear that stems from the denigration of faith in general, and Christianity in particular, that I witnessed. And that is why I found comfort on Sundays at church.
I’ve been thinking about the words of Phillips Brooks for some time. It’s amazing how an Episcopalian minister from 19th century Massachusetts can still touch lost seekers.
There is nothing I have found from science that compares. Science can provide drama, mystery, and grandeur, but it, and its practitioners, neither acknowledge nor touch the soul.
I love my former colleagues, more than they will ever know. That is why it breaks my heart when I consider the cynicism, the hate, and the fundamental fear that stems from the denigration of faith in general, and Christianity in particular, that I witnessed. And that is why I found comfort on Sundays at church.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Only Nixon Could go to China - Sunday service at a UCC church on the conversion of St. Paul
Today’s sermon was, as usual, a masterpiece by Pastor Mitch. He piqued the historian in me when he discussed The 100: A Ranking of the Most Influential Persons in History, a 1978 book by Michael H. Hart. Mitch asked all of us to pick our top three, then solicited our responses. (I chose, somewhat incoherently and with buyer’s remorse, “Jesus, Genghis Khan, and Abraham Lincoln”.) He then went through Hart’s top ten, with Muhammad listed as number one, Isaac Newton at two, Jesus Christ at three, and so on.
He said that one name that surprises a lot of people was St. Paul, at number six, just below Confucius and above Cai Lun (the inventor of paper). Mitch points out that without St. Paul, Christianity could have remained a localized sect, one of many “mystery religions”, to borrow a term from a Roman history class.
He said that one name that surprises a lot of people was St. Paul, at number six, just below Confucius and above Cai Lun (the inventor of paper). Mitch points out that without St. Paul, Christianity could have remained a localized sect, one of many “mystery religions”, to borrow a term from a Roman history class.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Thank you, Glenn Beck.
Glenn Beck urges listeners to leave churches that preach social justice
courtesy of Maxx Lee, via Timo Chen.
I never thought I'd say this, but thank you, Glenn Beck. I think you're going to get me to go back to church.
It's hard to be angry, and harder to be effectively angry. I've been depressed and done my best to self-lobotomize myself over the last year or two, so it's been really, really hard to get angry or worked up about anything other than my own insignificant life.
And now, this.
courtesy of Maxx Lee, via Timo Chen.
I never thought I'd say this, but thank you, Glenn Beck. I think you're going to get me to go back to church.
It's hard to be angry, and harder to be effectively angry. I've been depressed and done my best to self-lobotomize myself over the last year or two, so it's been really, really hard to get angry or worked up about anything other than my own insignificant life.
And now, this.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
The virtues of church
I recently wrote three long-ish letters (not e-mails) to three old men at my church in Southern California. All of them are suffering from health problems of varying degrees. If you are so inclined, I'm sure that Jack, Kenji, and Jim would appreciate your prayers. This post is a product of the fond memories and thinking those notes catalyzed.
Sometimes I wish I could say that I'm a Christian because I felt that the Bible was the revealed word of God, or because, after a careful study of all religions and philosophies of life, that I found that this religion most closely aligned to my understanding of morality and justice. In all honesty, I was a Christian because I was born into a family that attended a Christian church - specifically, a United Church of Christ congregation.
Sometimes I wish I could say that I'm a Christian because I felt that the Bible was the revealed word of God, or because, after a careful study of all religions and philosophies of life, that I found that this religion most closely aligned to my understanding of morality and justice. In all honesty, I was a Christian because I was born into a family that attended a Christian church - specifically, a United Church of Christ congregation.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
California Proposition 8, Christianity, Science, and America
Today I had a long conversation with a friend from Harvey Mudd. He, like many of my friends, is excited that Barack Obama won the presidency on Tuesday. And he, like many, is dismayed that the voters in California decided to pass Proposition 8: “Eliminates Rights of Same-Sex Couples to Marry.” In our conversation, I realized that the issues surrounding whether or not same-sex couples should have the right to marry is tied to an aspect of religious belief in a way that reminds me of another area of social conflict – the fight over evolution. I thought it was time for me to share my experiences and thoughts on this other battle, and then see if I can apply the lessons inferred to this present conflict.
On April 15, former presidential candidate Mike Huckabee spoke at Cornell. I was struck by how likable he was. He was charismatic and well-spoken. I thought he made a wonderful and correct point talking about how his experiences as a minister were distinctly valuable, and very different from his fellow candidates. As a pastor, he said, he saw every form of human frailty, and spoke with men and women from all walks of life. I have been, and remain, in favor of the separation of church and state. But considering that the legal profession (as I imperfectly understand it) is focused on specificity, precedent, and argument, I believe there is something to be learned from the shepherd-leader who knows how to listen, to make those around him or her feel heard and cared for, even if there is no final resolution of the difference of opinion.
I found one brief portion of the talk particularly enlightening. Throughout his talk, he poked fun at himself and the controversy he generated—Eisenhower, Sherman, and other impressive American leaders have been very effective at the art of disarming self-deprecating humor while maintaining decisive leadership and command. When the topic of evolution came up, he relieved the potential tension with a joke. He pointed out that “he didn’t know…. He wasn’t there.”
It struck me a bit odd, and it took a few days for me to realize why that brief, rather mild joke was so important. It goes to a point Phil Muirhead at Cornell Astronomy once pointed out – that there was a world of difference between scientists, whose work depends upon trusting the results of other experiments that they did not personally conduct, and individuals for whom the threshold of truth is personal experience.
This is odd because Governor Huckabee does trust the custodianship of another set of events for which he has no personal experience—namely, the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus Christ.
I point this out not to highlight inconsistency, but to underline a key point that is missed during the talking past one another that secular scientists and religious community members seem to have, or conservative Christians and homosexuals, or Democrats and Republicans.
There is a deep disagreement on the sources of truth, legitimacy, and authority between the great cultural divides in our society.
A good scientist will study and question the custodianship and legitimacy of the set of experimental and theoretical work that has led to modern evolutionary biology. And a good Christian will examine the ecclesiastical and temporal histories that shaped, and were shaped by, Christianity. And ideally, both are willing to study outside their areas of competence, and discover and construct a more complicated, subtle and meaningful identity for themselves than existed before.
Yet it is the nature of power to react against the threat posed by other sources of truth and legitimacy. Though human beings are complex, our limited resources often cause us to focus on specific salient aspects of ourselves. At any given moment I may be a man, an Asian, a scientist, a job seeker, a Christian, a Democrat, a writer, a son, an American citizen, and a trader. But rarely do I retain awareness of all those aspects. Even if I did, I might underweight or overweight the contributions of any one in my actions and reactions to a given situation.
Wisdom comes from knowledge and experience. Both depend upon two factors:
(1) our ability to analyze and arrive at greater truth
(2) our ability to recognize the limitations of both the processes we use and the scope of our conclusions.
By (2), I mean that we need to depend upon multiple processes for understanding our world and the truth, in both a physical and a moral sense.
As an astronomer, I used multiple wavelengths of light to infer greater knowledge about stars and planets. Were I to limit myself to the one band where I have personal experience (visible), I would be unable to detect brown dwarfs around nearby stars, unable to detect ice on the Moon, unable to track star formation in distant galaxies. Indeed, the different academic disciplines provide different lenses and different toolboxes by which we can analyze and process texts, external events and personal experiences. (This is why I support a broad liberal arts background combined with a rigorous scientific education.)
And as a Christian, I have studied not only the Bible and prominent Christian theologians, but also other major religions, the complicated relationship between temporal and ecclesiastical authority in the Roman Empire and Medieval Europe, and how the evolution and decline of mainline American denominational churches has affected poverty work.
And I have tremendously enjoyed the opportunities afforded by my limited travels, my education, and inscrutable fate to have wonderful conversations with men and women of all walks of life, of varying degrees of power, wealth, charisma, culture, faith, and political persuasion.
Our success—in all senses of the word—in this life is facilitated by a willingness to learn as much as possible from any and all sources, combined—critically so—with a temperament, character, and system of values that change less in response to direct pressure from others than our own desire to change in response to new information and insight.
I don’t know precisely why Proposition 8 appears to be on track to pass. Perhaps those who voted for it are homophobic. Perhaps they value their heterosexual marriages. Perhaps they were concerned about how it would affect what their children were introduced to in schools. Perhaps they believed that their pastors would be forced to perform marriages between gays and lesbians or face legal sanction. Perhaps their faith proscribes homosexuality. Perhaps they were concerned about the already substantial federal deficit, and the implications should homosexual couples receive the same financial benefits that heterosexual spouses enjoy. Perhaps it was a reaction to the focus on sex that often is found in discussion and expressions of homosexual identity.
At the core of the religious opposition to same-sex marriage is a presumption that Christian truth includes a component that explicitly regards same-sex marriage, or same-sex relationships as sinful and proscribed, and that this truth passes through trustworthy custodians cognizant both of the complexities of modern life, the variegated and complicated identity of being gay, and the application of Christian principles and lessons to both of these.
This belief and its implications are at loggerheads with other aspects of our collective identities to restrict or remove rights through means of constitutional amendment.
I do not know for certain whether the state of California, or any other state, has enacted constitutional amendments that restrict or remove the rights of any individual or group. As far as I know, the United States Constitution has only one: the 18th amendment on the prohibition of alcohol, which was enacted in 1917 and repealed by the 21st Amendment in 1933. (I do not count the 22nd Amendment, which limits a president to two elected terms.) All other amendments seek to extend or confirm the rights of its citizens, or to clarify procedural issues.
Let's take a step back. One could easily argue that Caracalla’s extension of Roman citizenship to all free men within the Empire in 212 C.E. was prompted more by necessity as progressivism. The same can be said for the Magna Carta, signed by King John I of England in 1215, which placed limits on the power of the sovereign, or the 1688 Bill of Rights, which created in England a constitutional monarchy. But it is undeniable that all represented steps toward the modern liberal democracy that we enjoy today, which we would regard as superior to the times when none, or one, or the few, were free.
We can look to our own, more recent history, to the liberty, and the enfranchisement, of African-Americans and women, of the removal of restrictions on property ownership by Asian immigrants, and the Miranda Rights. The trend and trajectory of the progress of human civilization is toward greater, not lesser, individual freedom, limited by the harm principle, guided by a state that is, ideally, strong enough to enforce the law, free enough to provide the greatest possible individual and collective liberty, and wise enough not to attempt to legislate tolerance or morality.
It has been a slow path, an undulating, halting journey toward universal liberty, one that perhaps can only poorly described as progress. I have cherry-picked history, glossed over humanity’s recidivist tendencies toward conquest and oppression, the temptation to construct conflict and corrupt the blessing of distinct identities to divide and rule. Who among us is here who cannot look back into our ancestral past, and find a lineage unscathed by our own Trail of Tears?
Proposition 8 is bad on a number of counts. It sets a precedent for constitutional amendment that is low, that will encourage others to codify their vision of how the world should operate in what should be a very difficult document to modify.
It creates the ground for retroactive implementation of the amendment to nullify existing marriages to same-sex couples, further damaging both the letter and the spirit of the legislative process.
Yet perhaps most destructive is the corrosiveness that the bitter electoral battle has created between the different camps.
I note that the Constitution, the Holy Bible, and the Origin of Species are all, in it of themselves, pieces of paper. They contain information and knowledge. Yet they are absolutely worthless in it of themselves. They retain power and influence only insofar as individual humans are able to read and interpret these documents, apply them to their own lives, and attempt, with varying levels of care and wisdom, to shape the course of human progress by the knowledge and wisdom so created by our collective thoughts and actions. We ultimately must judge the success and merits of Christianity, of science, and of America by its living legacy, by those who represent and promote each.
By this metric, I believe this proposition damages this living legacy of extending rights and the Christian values of love and inclusiveness.
Our future depends upon our ability to recognize the merits of our ideas and values, new and old, resolving conflicts where they exist, as best we can, and occasionally subordinating the desire for consistency in one realm with adherence to a broader one. I do not yet know if this means that I must choose between Leviticus or On Liberty—thus far, I feel I have navigated, however imperfectly, the margins of identity of Christianity, science, and American citizen. What I do know is that the greatest burden, and the greatest virtue, is to be honest with the demands of each.
And the demands of what I feel Christianity to be truly about – faith in a benevolent higher power, hope in the potential for humanity to improve itself, and love for the “other” – and what I feel America is about, and what I feel the pursuit of knowledge is about, all indicate that it is damaging to use the authority of the state to eliminate the rights of a minority simply because the majority wishes it so.
Christ’s message of love and inclusiveness, especially for individuals at the margins of society, is at odds with the metaphorical interpretation of the tale of Sodom and Gomorrah. Yet I cannot conclude that the existence of the latter invalidates the former—just as we recognize the precedence of federal law over state statutes, I recognize the supremacy of the spirit of Christianity can, and in this case does, trump the letter of Christian law as interpreted from Genesis 19. (In fact, I tend to agree with the Jewish interpretation that hostility to the “stranger”, and not homosexual relations, is the real sin that is proscribed in the story.)
Each of us is ultimately responsible for the choice of belief and action. We are the heirs of the historical legacy that enables us to live as we do today. But we are not the final heirs. With our limitations, but also our greatest possible ability, we must look to the lessons of the past and the realities of the present. And we must live, lead, and govern with an eye to the world we wish to leave to those who come after us, those who are yet innocent of the conflict and hatred that poison and destroy all it consumes.
As a man who had no father at home, a father who lacked the mental stability to be a father or a husband, I have this to say about the issue of same-sex adoption.
I am far more fortunate than the number of children who enter the sex industry, or are abused by their parents, or have lost their parents to war, famine, or disease. I have seen the triumph of individuals who grew up without support at home, but always in spite of, not because of, their absence of parental leadership and love. I have also worked with, lived with, and laughed with many gay men and women whom I think will be excellent parents.
I have met gay men who were more of a father to me than my biological father. And I will never forget their contribution to my life, to my character, to my conviction that we are far, far more than the simple atomistic identities we frequently apply to others, and ourselves.
If you are worried about what your children will learn, or what it means to have a gay parent living next door, I would encourage you to examine your fears, examine the availability of good parents in society, and consider whether those children deserve the chance to have a parent, of any sex, of any orientation, who cares and loves them. And I would encourage you to focus not just on educating your children in the particulars of right and wrong as you see it, but to give them the character and temperament to live and lead a world of the many, and not the few.
I believe this is how we best serve our God, our nation, our profession, and our future.
I welcome disagreement, and would love to have a dialogue with anyone who agrees, disagrees, or is curious how I came to this conclusion. I will promise to not have the goal of convincing anyone, but rather to listen and learn, as I hope those who read this also learn, if not about themselves, about me and what I believe.
On April 15, former presidential candidate Mike Huckabee spoke at Cornell. I was struck by how likable he was. He was charismatic and well-spoken. I thought he made a wonderful and correct point talking about how his experiences as a minister were distinctly valuable, and very different from his fellow candidates. As a pastor, he said, he saw every form of human frailty, and spoke with men and women from all walks of life. I have been, and remain, in favor of the separation of church and state. But considering that the legal profession (as I imperfectly understand it) is focused on specificity, precedent, and argument, I believe there is something to be learned from the shepherd-leader who knows how to listen, to make those around him or her feel heard and cared for, even if there is no final resolution of the difference of opinion.
I found one brief portion of the talk particularly enlightening. Throughout his talk, he poked fun at himself and the controversy he generated—Eisenhower, Sherman, and other impressive American leaders have been very effective at the art of disarming self-deprecating humor while maintaining decisive leadership and command. When the topic of evolution came up, he relieved the potential tension with a joke. He pointed out that “he didn’t know…. He wasn’t there.”
It struck me a bit odd, and it took a few days for me to realize why that brief, rather mild joke was so important. It goes to a point Phil Muirhead at Cornell Astronomy once pointed out – that there was a world of difference between scientists, whose work depends upon trusting the results of other experiments that they did not personally conduct, and individuals for whom the threshold of truth is personal experience.
This is odd because Governor Huckabee does trust the custodianship of another set of events for which he has no personal experience—namely, the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus Christ.
I point this out not to highlight inconsistency, but to underline a key point that is missed during the talking past one another that secular scientists and religious community members seem to have, or conservative Christians and homosexuals, or Democrats and Republicans.
There is a deep disagreement on the sources of truth, legitimacy, and authority between the great cultural divides in our society.
A good scientist will study and question the custodianship and legitimacy of the set of experimental and theoretical work that has led to modern evolutionary biology. And a good Christian will examine the ecclesiastical and temporal histories that shaped, and were shaped by, Christianity. And ideally, both are willing to study outside their areas of competence, and discover and construct a more complicated, subtle and meaningful identity for themselves than existed before.
Yet it is the nature of power to react against the threat posed by other sources of truth and legitimacy. Though human beings are complex, our limited resources often cause us to focus on specific salient aspects of ourselves. At any given moment I may be a man, an Asian, a scientist, a job seeker, a Christian, a Democrat, a writer, a son, an American citizen, and a trader. But rarely do I retain awareness of all those aspects. Even if I did, I might underweight or overweight the contributions of any one in my actions and reactions to a given situation.
Wisdom comes from knowledge and experience. Both depend upon two factors:
(1) our ability to analyze and arrive at greater truth
(2) our ability to recognize the limitations of both the processes we use and the scope of our conclusions.
By (2), I mean that we need to depend upon multiple processes for understanding our world and the truth, in both a physical and a moral sense.
As an astronomer, I used multiple wavelengths of light to infer greater knowledge about stars and planets. Were I to limit myself to the one band where I have personal experience (visible), I would be unable to detect brown dwarfs around nearby stars, unable to detect ice on the Moon, unable to track star formation in distant galaxies. Indeed, the different academic disciplines provide different lenses and different toolboxes by which we can analyze and process texts, external events and personal experiences. (This is why I support a broad liberal arts background combined with a rigorous scientific education.)
And as a Christian, I have studied not only the Bible and prominent Christian theologians, but also other major religions, the complicated relationship between temporal and ecclesiastical authority in the Roman Empire and Medieval Europe, and how the evolution and decline of mainline American denominational churches has affected poverty work.
And I have tremendously enjoyed the opportunities afforded by my limited travels, my education, and inscrutable fate to have wonderful conversations with men and women of all walks of life, of varying degrees of power, wealth, charisma, culture, faith, and political persuasion.
Our success—in all senses of the word—in this life is facilitated by a willingness to learn as much as possible from any and all sources, combined—critically so—with a temperament, character, and system of values that change less in response to direct pressure from others than our own desire to change in response to new information and insight.
I don’t know precisely why Proposition 8 appears to be on track to pass. Perhaps those who voted for it are homophobic. Perhaps they value their heterosexual marriages. Perhaps they were concerned about how it would affect what their children were introduced to in schools. Perhaps they believed that their pastors would be forced to perform marriages between gays and lesbians or face legal sanction. Perhaps their faith proscribes homosexuality. Perhaps they were concerned about the already substantial federal deficit, and the implications should homosexual couples receive the same financial benefits that heterosexual spouses enjoy. Perhaps it was a reaction to the focus on sex that often is found in discussion and expressions of homosexual identity.
At the core of the religious opposition to same-sex marriage is a presumption that Christian truth includes a component that explicitly regards same-sex marriage, or same-sex relationships as sinful and proscribed, and that this truth passes through trustworthy custodians cognizant both of the complexities of modern life, the variegated and complicated identity of being gay, and the application of Christian principles and lessons to both of these.
This belief and its implications are at loggerheads with other aspects of our collective identities to restrict or remove rights through means of constitutional amendment.
I do not know for certain whether the state of California, or any other state, has enacted constitutional amendments that restrict or remove the rights of any individual or group. As far as I know, the United States Constitution has only one: the 18th amendment on the prohibition of alcohol, which was enacted in 1917 and repealed by the 21st Amendment in 1933. (I do not count the 22nd Amendment, which limits a president to two elected terms.) All other amendments seek to extend or confirm the rights of its citizens, or to clarify procedural issues.
Let's take a step back. One could easily argue that Caracalla’s extension of Roman citizenship to all free men within the Empire in 212 C.E. was prompted more by necessity as progressivism. The same can be said for the Magna Carta, signed by King John I of England in 1215, which placed limits on the power of the sovereign, or the 1688 Bill of Rights, which created in England a constitutional monarchy. But it is undeniable that all represented steps toward the modern liberal democracy that we enjoy today, which we would regard as superior to the times when none, or one, or the few, were free.
We can look to our own, more recent history, to the liberty, and the enfranchisement, of African-Americans and women, of the removal of restrictions on property ownership by Asian immigrants, and the Miranda Rights. The trend and trajectory of the progress of human civilization is toward greater, not lesser, individual freedom, limited by the harm principle, guided by a state that is, ideally, strong enough to enforce the law, free enough to provide the greatest possible individual and collective liberty, and wise enough not to attempt to legislate tolerance or morality.
It has been a slow path, an undulating, halting journey toward universal liberty, one that perhaps can only poorly described as progress. I have cherry-picked history, glossed over humanity’s recidivist tendencies toward conquest and oppression, the temptation to construct conflict and corrupt the blessing of distinct identities to divide and rule. Who among us is here who cannot look back into our ancestral past, and find a lineage unscathed by our own Trail of Tears?
Proposition 8 is bad on a number of counts. It sets a precedent for constitutional amendment that is low, that will encourage others to codify their vision of how the world should operate in what should be a very difficult document to modify.
It creates the ground for retroactive implementation of the amendment to nullify existing marriages to same-sex couples, further damaging both the letter and the spirit of the legislative process.
Yet perhaps most destructive is the corrosiveness that the bitter electoral battle has created between the different camps.
I note that the Constitution, the Holy Bible, and the Origin of Species are all, in it of themselves, pieces of paper. They contain information and knowledge. Yet they are absolutely worthless in it of themselves. They retain power and influence only insofar as individual humans are able to read and interpret these documents, apply them to their own lives, and attempt, with varying levels of care and wisdom, to shape the course of human progress by the knowledge and wisdom so created by our collective thoughts and actions. We ultimately must judge the success and merits of Christianity, of science, and of America by its living legacy, by those who represent and promote each.
By this metric, I believe this proposition damages this living legacy of extending rights and the Christian values of love and inclusiveness.
Our future depends upon our ability to recognize the merits of our ideas and values, new and old, resolving conflicts where they exist, as best we can, and occasionally subordinating the desire for consistency in one realm with adherence to a broader one. I do not yet know if this means that I must choose between Leviticus or On Liberty—thus far, I feel I have navigated, however imperfectly, the margins of identity of Christianity, science, and American citizen. What I do know is that the greatest burden, and the greatest virtue, is to be honest with the demands of each.
And the demands of what I feel Christianity to be truly about – faith in a benevolent higher power, hope in the potential for humanity to improve itself, and love for the “other” – and what I feel America is about, and what I feel the pursuit of knowledge is about, all indicate that it is damaging to use the authority of the state to eliminate the rights of a minority simply because the majority wishes it so.
Christ’s message of love and inclusiveness, especially for individuals at the margins of society, is at odds with the metaphorical interpretation of the tale of Sodom and Gomorrah. Yet I cannot conclude that the existence of the latter invalidates the former—just as we recognize the precedence of federal law over state statutes, I recognize the supremacy of the spirit of Christianity can, and in this case does, trump the letter of Christian law as interpreted from Genesis 19. (In fact, I tend to agree with the Jewish interpretation that hostility to the “stranger”, and not homosexual relations, is the real sin that is proscribed in the story.)
Each of us is ultimately responsible for the choice of belief and action. We are the heirs of the historical legacy that enables us to live as we do today. But we are not the final heirs. With our limitations, but also our greatest possible ability, we must look to the lessons of the past and the realities of the present. And we must live, lead, and govern with an eye to the world we wish to leave to those who come after us, those who are yet innocent of the conflict and hatred that poison and destroy all it consumes.
As a man who had no father at home, a father who lacked the mental stability to be a father or a husband, I have this to say about the issue of same-sex adoption.
I am far more fortunate than the number of children who enter the sex industry, or are abused by their parents, or have lost their parents to war, famine, or disease. I have seen the triumph of individuals who grew up without support at home, but always in spite of, not because of, their absence of parental leadership and love. I have also worked with, lived with, and laughed with many gay men and women whom I think will be excellent parents.
I have met gay men who were more of a father to me than my biological father. And I will never forget their contribution to my life, to my character, to my conviction that we are far, far more than the simple atomistic identities we frequently apply to others, and ourselves.
If you are worried about what your children will learn, or what it means to have a gay parent living next door, I would encourage you to examine your fears, examine the availability of good parents in society, and consider whether those children deserve the chance to have a parent, of any sex, of any orientation, who cares and loves them. And I would encourage you to focus not just on educating your children in the particulars of right and wrong as you see it, but to give them the character and temperament to live and lead a world of the many, and not the few.
I believe this is how we best serve our God, our nation, our profession, and our future.
I welcome disagreement, and would love to have a dialogue with anyone who agrees, disagrees, or is curious how I came to this conclusion. I will promise to not have the goal of convincing anyone, but rather to listen and learn, as I hope those who read this also learn, if not about themselves, about me and what I believe.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Ann Druyan speaks to COMM 566 students
I feel terrible today, probably for many reasons.
I may feel poorly because I stayed up all Monday night to reduce some data, and have yet to fully recover.
I may feel badly because it is snowing.
But perhaps the reason I feel most terribly is that, today, I feel I put an impressive individual's feet to the fire.
Ann Druyan, an accomplished co-producer of Cosmos, an author, and Carl Sagan's widow, spoke to our science communication class. She gave a moving testimonial and excellent example of how science can inspire.
My intention was to ask a question about what scientists can do to improve themselves, both as scientists and citizens, independent of the perennial outreach issue. But it seemed like that question was interpreted and restated on both our parts as a science-religion question. She was gracious in her response, and afterward I did my best to apologize for any pointedness, real or perceived, on my end.
But the issue remains, and I will do my best to articulate it here.
My contention was, and remains, that "outreach" implicitly sets a dividing line between scientists and non-scientists. This in itself isn't harmful - differences do exist in terms of knowledge, training, and experience that make such a distinction real and critically important if education is the goal. What is potentially harmful is a frame in which the broader society is viewed as an entity to be changed, and the scientists are the change agents.
I believe Ann, and most scientists, recognize that this is a gross simplification. Being a heterogeneous, complicated, and fundamentally human community, we fall prey to any number of biases -- the availability heuristic being a particularly pernicious one. (This means that what's familiar is more salient, and we make judgments weighted more heavily on our own experience and memory instead of data.) And yet the stakes are so high that I would say that before we focus exclusively on outreach, a measure of inreach is necessary.
I know, to varying levels of certainty, that the individuals in my department have experienced depression, anxiety, familial problems, financial difficulties, and health issues. But I also know they are amazing, strong individuals who, as Jim Bell once said, "draw strength from their ghosts". Before we have any pretensions to being a "scientific community", we may do well to see how well either of those words describe who we are.
Ann, on the off chance you read this, I want to reiterate my comments in our conversation after class. You are an amazing individual who has "it" - the ability to persuade and inspire, the communicator's dream, and the scientist's gold standard. Neil deGrasse Tyson mentioned that the path for science communicators, like himself, was blazed by Carl, and that he paid for it.
In a way, Carl Sagan's story echoes Ben Franklin's - worked his way from humble origins to fame, fortune and international renown, but remained rejected by the very countrymen who benefitted the most from his meteoric rise and visionary work. Ben Franklin was the first American scientist, and the first American scientist to push strongly for changing American higher education from a Latin-based curriculum to an English-based one, opening the doors to public education.
Perhaps, if I had met enough Ann Druyan's in my life, I would not be leaving astronomy... perhaps not. What is clear is that the demands for the 21st century citizen, and the 21st century scientist, are substantial. My time here has shown I am not equal to the former, but I will devote my remaining time to working on the latter.
Ann mentioned that February 20, 1961 was a snow day. She spent it listening, along with her family, to Kennedy's First Inaugural. Two weeks ago, I went to Arlington National Cemetery and knelt by JFK's grave, and read the excerpts of his First Inaugural Address, and cried.
Now, I turn, as I so often do, to the words of his younger brother, Robert.
"Our future may lie beyond our vision, but it is not completely beyond our control. It is the shaping influence of America that neither fate, nor nature, nor the irresistible tides of human history, but the work of our own hands, matched to reason and principle, that will determine our destiny. There is pride in that, even arrogance, but there is also experience and truth. In any event, it is the only way we can live."
Neither fate (religion), nor nature (science) alone will determine our destiny. It will be the fruit of our present labor and indolence, wisdom and ignorance, ambition and contentedness. Our destiny is a hundred-pointed caltrop, dangerous to the touch, painful to grasp, but necessary to bear for a time, towards the future that must be.
And in that effort, we grow to become stronger, nobler individuals, more amazing and impressive than we could have ever hoped, yet recognizable in the mirror as simple, ordinary individuals who found something beyond themselves towards which we strive as best we can, with those who can and will.
I think Ann Druyan is a critical part of that future -- as is Neil deGrasse Tyson, Bruce Lewenstein, the members of the Science Communication class, and the astronomy graduate students I have had the privilege of working with. I don't know when "too late" is, or how one would measure it, so I will work best knowing that, for all times and for all civilizations, there are always challenges that will require the brilliance, talent, and vision of citizens everywhere.
So "let it go forth that a torch has been passed to a new generation." And let us not drop it, or be burned by it.
I may feel poorly because I stayed up all Monday night to reduce some data, and have yet to fully recover.
I may feel badly because it is snowing.
But perhaps the reason I feel most terribly is that, today, I feel I put an impressive individual's feet to the fire.
Ann Druyan, an accomplished co-producer of Cosmos, an author, and Carl Sagan's widow, spoke to our science communication class. She gave a moving testimonial and excellent example of how science can inspire.
My intention was to ask a question about what scientists can do to improve themselves, both as scientists and citizens, independent of the perennial outreach issue. But it seemed like that question was interpreted and restated on both our parts as a science-religion question. She was gracious in her response, and afterward I did my best to apologize for any pointedness, real or perceived, on my end.
But the issue remains, and I will do my best to articulate it here.
My contention was, and remains, that "outreach" implicitly sets a dividing line between scientists and non-scientists. This in itself isn't harmful - differences do exist in terms of knowledge, training, and experience that make such a distinction real and critically important if education is the goal. What is potentially harmful is a frame in which the broader society is viewed as an entity to be changed, and the scientists are the change agents.
I believe Ann, and most scientists, recognize that this is a gross simplification. Being a heterogeneous, complicated, and fundamentally human community, we fall prey to any number of biases -- the availability heuristic being a particularly pernicious one. (This means that what's familiar is more salient, and we make judgments weighted more heavily on our own experience and memory instead of data.) And yet the stakes are so high that I would say that before we focus exclusively on outreach, a measure of inreach is necessary.
I know, to varying levels of certainty, that the individuals in my department have experienced depression, anxiety, familial problems, financial difficulties, and health issues. But I also know they are amazing, strong individuals who, as Jim Bell once said, "draw strength from their ghosts". Before we have any pretensions to being a "scientific community", we may do well to see how well either of those words describe who we are.
Ann, on the off chance you read this, I want to reiterate my comments in our conversation after class. You are an amazing individual who has "it" - the ability to persuade and inspire, the communicator's dream, and the scientist's gold standard. Neil deGrasse Tyson mentioned that the path for science communicators, like himself, was blazed by Carl, and that he paid for it.
In a way, Carl Sagan's story echoes Ben Franklin's - worked his way from humble origins to fame, fortune and international renown, but remained rejected by the very countrymen who benefitted the most from his meteoric rise and visionary work. Ben Franklin was the first American scientist, and the first American scientist to push strongly for changing American higher education from a Latin-based curriculum to an English-based one, opening the doors to public education.
Perhaps, if I had met enough Ann Druyan's in my life, I would not be leaving astronomy... perhaps not. What is clear is that the demands for the 21st century citizen, and the 21st century scientist, are substantial. My time here has shown I am not equal to the former, but I will devote my remaining time to working on the latter.
Ann mentioned that February 20, 1961 was a snow day. She spent it listening, along with her family, to Kennedy's First Inaugural. Two weeks ago, I went to Arlington National Cemetery and knelt by JFK's grave, and read the excerpts of his First Inaugural Address, and cried.
Now, I turn, as I so often do, to the words of his younger brother, Robert.
"Our future may lie beyond our vision, but it is not completely beyond our control. It is the shaping influence of America that neither fate, nor nature, nor the irresistible tides of human history, but the work of our own hands, matched to reason and principle, that will determine our destiny. There is pride in that, even arrogance, but there is also experience and truth. In any event, it is the only way we can live."
Neither fate (religion), nor nature (science) alone will determine our destiny. It will be the fruit of our present labor and indolence, wisdom and ignorance, ambition and contentedness. Our destiny is a hundred-pointed caltrop, dangerous to the touch, painful to grasp, but necessary to bear for a time, towards the future that must be.
And in that effort, we grow to become stronger, nobler individuals, more amazing and impressive than we could have ever hoped, yet recognizable in the mirror as simple, ordinary individuals who found something beyond themselves towards which we strive as best we can, with those who can and will.
I think Ann Druyan is a critical part of that future -- as is Neil deGrasse Tyson, Bruce Lewenstein, the members of the Science Communication class, and the astronomy graduate students I have had the privilege of working with. I don't know when "too late" is, or how one would measure it, so I will work best knowing that, for all times and for all civilizations, there are always challenges that will require the brilliance, talent, and vision of citizens everywhere.
So "let it go forth that a torch has been passed to a new generation." And let us not drop it, or be burned by it.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Consecration Sunday Speech
(delivered at St. Paul's United Methodist Church, Ithaca, NY, 7 Oct 2007)
Good morning everyone! My name is Ryan Yamada. I have the distinct privilege of announcing to this wonderful body of Christ that Consecration Sunday is this October 25! Consecration Sunday is a chance to ask ourselves what we feel compelled to give to God and His service, as so beautifully and remarkably demonstrated by all the good that comes from this faith community.
I've been asked to provide my own experiences in the Church and how I intend to approach Consecration Sunday, both of which I am happy to do.
About a year ago, you welcomed me into this congregation, and entrusted me with a most precious task - to help nurture and encourage the senior high students in confirmation class. I'm still amazed you let a virtual stranger do this - though Rebecca kept an eye on me to make sure no damage was done. I found the youth to be brilliant, kind, passionate, and most of all, generous in heart and spirit. I'm not sure what they got out of my presence, other than some wisecracks and enthusiastic support for the appreciation of caffeinated beverages. I found myself wondering, over and over again: why is it that these men and women are so awesome?
Credit goes to them of course, their friends and families, and God. But I think this spiritual community also played, and continues to play, a key role. During service, I'm often struck by a vision of a multi-generational construction project, in which you are building, brick by brick, an awesome sanctuary that extends far beyond these walls, and far beyond Sunday morning. From Buffalo Street to Bosnia, you extend comfort, nurture the spirit, and challenge hearts and minds to become stronger, wiser, and more loving. What you do demonstrates courage and conviction that can come only from loving something greater than yourself. It is here that I first felt the full force of 1 Cor 13:13 - "And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love, but the greatest of these is love."
Of course we’re not perfect. We are often failed saints, and all too often successful sinners; we have imperfect moral resumes. Even my flaws have flaws. But we do God's work as well as we can, however we can.
In so many ways I have trusted you with my heart and my soul; that decision to embrace this community has been one of the best of my life. It is therefore easy for me to trust this living church with what offerings I can give, for it is here that I see it work, in ways subtle and sublime.
We decide, as individuals, what we can give. Our reasons for giving are as complex and diverse as our reasons for coming here, and often remain unknown even to ourselves. But we must never underestimate the power of gifts, of talent, time, and tithe, to do so much good in the world, and to enrich our own lives. It truly is better to give than to receive, but by the grace of God we can do both.
As we approach October 28, I hope that all of us will take some time to increase our mindfulness of why we give, what it means to give, what we are called to give. And in these weeks, we will also reflect upon all that God gives to us, in particular, the opportunity to share a special time and spirit in a truly remarkable community.
Blessings to you in the coming weeks - may you feel what I feel, see what I see, whenever I walk among this living, awesome, sanctuary.
Good morning everyone! My name is Ryan Yamada. I have the distinct privilege of announcing to this wonderful body of Christ that Consecration Sunday is this October 25! Consecration Sunday is a chance to ask ourselves what we feel compelled to give to God and His service, as so beautifully and remarkably demonstrated by all the good that comes from this faith community.
I've been asked to provide my own experiences in the Church and how I intend to approach Consecration Sunday, both of which I am happy to do.
About a year ago, you welcomed me into this congregation, and entrusted me with a most precious task - to help nurture and encourage the senior high students in confirmation class. I'm still amazed you let a virtual stranger do this - though Rebecca kept an eye on me to make sure no damage was done. I found the youth to be brilliant, kind, passionate, and most of all, generous in heart and spirit. I'm not sure what they got out of my presence, other than some wisecracks and enthusiastic support for the appreciation of caffeinated beverages. I found myself wondering, over and over again: why is it that these men and women are so awesome?
Credit goes to them of course, their friends and families, and God. But I think this spiritual community also played, and continues to play, a key role. During service, I'm often struck by a vision of a multi-generational construction project, in which you are building, brick by brick, an awesome sanctuary that extends far beyond these walls, and far beyond Sunday morning. From Buffalo Street to Bosnia, you extend comfort, nurture the spirit, and challenge hearts and minds to become stronger, wiser, and more loving. What you do demonstrates courage and conviction that can come only from loving something greater than yourself. It is here that I first felt the full force of 1 Cor 13:13 - "And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love, but the greatest of these is love."
Of course we’re not perfect. We are often failed saints, and all too often successful sinners; we have imperfect moral resumes. Even my flaws have flaws. But we do God's work as well as we can, however we can.
In so many ways I have trusted you with my heart and my soul; that decision to embrace this community has been one of the best of my life. It is therefore easy for me to trust this living church with what offerings I can give, for it is here that I see it work, in ways subtle and sublime.
We decide, as individuals, what we can give. Our reasons for giving are as complex and diverse as our reasons for coming here, and often remain unknown even to ourselves. But we must never underestimate the power of gifts, of talent, time, and tithe, to do so much good in the world, and to enrich our own lives. It truly is better to give than to receive, but by the grace of God we can do both.
As we approach October 28, I hope that all of us will take some time to increase our mindfulness of why we give, what it means to give, what we are called to give. And in these weeks, we will also reflect upon all that God gives to us, in particular, the opportunity to share a special time and spirit in a truly remarkable community.
Blessings to you in the coming weeks - may you feel what I feel, see what I see, whenever I walk among this living, awesome, sanctuary.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Why Anti-Religion in Science is Undesirable
In the coming days, I hope to clarify my thoughts on science and faith, especially, but not limited to, the astronomy issue, in a set of articles to be posted here. For now I will post what I feel to be the main reasons I think attempts by members of the astronomical community to attack religion in general are short-sighted, detrimental, and to me, personally offensive.
Astronomy ought not, and perhaps can not, position itself in opposition to, or otherwise discriminate against, religion or the religious for the following reasons:
The Nature of Science:
1. Science, at its best, seeks to be universal in its accessibility and its benefits. This does not mean it seeks to be universally applicable, or the only system by which legitimate knowledge is created and understood.
2. Science functions best in a working democracy. A working democracy defends the minority from the tyranny of the majority. To the extent that science is, or can be, democratic - a good idea is a good idea, whether it comes from the lowliest student or the most respected researcher - it must seek to avoid the tyranny of the majority.
Economic Assessment of Product, Consumers, and Labor Force:
3. Astronomy itself depends upon a quasi-mysticism that underpins its continued relevance to society.
4. It is utterly foolish to propose to discriminate against 50% (rough percentage of Americans who consider themselves born-again Christians) of your potential labor pool. Excellence from all backgrounds needs to be encouraged and nurtured. Note that this is the equivalent (logically, morally, and even numerically) of barring women from science.
Broader Societal Tensions, Conflicts, and Dangers:
5. If there is truly a cultural/ideological war being waged, astronomy, and science in general, will lose the battle for the hearts and minds of the individual and society if science is seen to be absent of heart and spirit.
6. It plays into the hands of individuals and groups who stand to benefit from a fight between the scientific and religious communities. More specifically, by using a divide-and-conquer strategy against two of the strongest sources of legitimacy outside the legal/economic/political institutions that make up American society, those who actually control a great deal of American policy, economic wealth, and benefit from its legal structure will perpetuate their power and influence, and without checks from these alternate forms of legitimate authority, will do so at the expense of the broader community.
Astronomy ought not, and perhaps can not, position itself in opposition to, or otherwise discriminate against, religion or the religious for the following reasons:
The Nature of Science:
1. Science, at its best, seeks to be universal in its accessibility and its benefits. This does not mean it seeks to be universally applicable, or the only system by which legitimate knowledge is created and understood.
2. Science functions best in a working democracy. A working democracy defends the minority from the tyranny of the majority. To the extent that science is, or can be, democratic - a good idea is a good idea, whether it comes from the lowliest student or the most respected researcher - it must seek to avoid the tyranny of the majority.
Economic Assessment of Product, Consumers, and Labor Force:
3. Astronomy itself depends upon a quasi-mysticism that underpins its continued relevance to society.
4. It is utterly foolish to propose to discriminate against 50% (rough percentage of Americans who consider themselves born-again Christians) of your potential labor pool. Excellence from all backgrounds needs to be encouraged and nurtured. Note that this is the equivalent (logically, morally, and even numerically) of barring women from science.
Broader Societal Tensions, Conflicts, and Dangers:
5. If there is truly a cultural/ideological war being waged, astronomy, and science in general, will lose the battle for the hearts and minds of the individual and society if science is seen to be absent of heart and spirit.
6. It plays into the hands of individuals and groups who stand to benefit from a fight between the scientific and religious communities. More specifically, by using a divide-and-conquer strategy against two of the strongest sources of legitimacy outside the legal/economic/political institutions that make up American society, those who actually control a great deal of American policy, economic wealth, and benefit from its legal structure will perpetuate their power and influence, and without checks from these alternate forms of legitimate authority, will do so at the expense of the broader community.
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