Hubris, aka We Humans Really Do Give Ourselves Too Much Credit

I worry that my faith is changing, and that my main ideas are just becoming a diatribe against religions in general and Christianity in particular.  I really don't know why I hate them so much; this must be what they feel.  So actually, and sort of ironically, I pretty much know exactly where they are coming from.  But I cling to the fact that I came to my faith of my own volition; I wasn't born into it or raised in its presence, and I started forming my ideas when I was still quite young and didn't have this mysterious animosity toward Christians.

I remember when I was four or five and in kindergarten, I had this friend, Erica, who was a Christian.  Nothing special; most of my friends were probably Christians in the sense that their parents had said "you are Christian."♦  Even then I realized the sanctity of the earth and nature, and I did not relish the idea of humans as the masters of the world.  One day (or over the course of a few days) we had a discussion involving the Christian god♥, my Mother earth (reminiscent of Native American religions), and the creation of the earth and humankind.  I was still willing to "play nice" with Christians at that point, as she was willing to with me; also important to note is that I had not defined myself as anything other than Christian at that point, although I did not see myself as one of that religion and did not follow its tenets (church, prayer, etc).  Erica and I eventually decided that my Mother had made the earth, including the land, the oceans, and all the animals and plants, and that her god had made the humans.  I would have to say I got the better deal.  My personal feelings aside, I find it interesting that we would compromise so, and I am extremely curious as to how we would deal with it now.  Perhaps that is the mindset that I seek to return to.

I don't want to hate people just because of what they believe; that in itself is sort of against my ideas.  I don't want to have a double standard and think myself and my faith above criticism.  But that is the direction that I find myself moving in; I think that conservative Christians are so idiotic for believing such ridiculous fairytales as the bible, but I believe things that could be described as "fanciful" and "ludicrous."

The key for me is to be humble; nothing and no one is above the scrutiny of the living, and so I should be used to being tossed aside like so much ridiculous trash.  As long as I can think they're morons; but then I am in danger of falling into that trap of the double standard… I do hate the double standard, and Christians (and really most recognized religions, especially the monotheistic ones) are shameless perpetrators of this hubris.♣

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♦ I also remember asking my mother, and my friends asking their mothers, "What are we?"  As in, what religion are we?  This in itself is utter folly, because any faith or religion must be reached by yourself, in my opinion.  Religion is totally your own, so children having religion is ridiculous.

♥ You will never see me call the Judeo-Christian deity "God" because I am insulted by the inference that he is the only god.  Being a polytheist of a sort I recognize the existence of many divine forces, though I may not recognize their sovereignty.  Hence my use of "JCgod."

♣ Hubris is commonly used to describe a mortal who thinks he is equal to a god, but I propose that it also describes religions/faiths and followers of religions/faiths that consider themselves above other religions/faiths, or, more importantly, consider themselves above scrutiny.  No thing in the universe is above scrutiny.

Smile or Die: The Real Secret

Hey Look, It's Thanksgiving

I like thanksgiving.  I like hanging out with family, I like the time off from school, I like the food...  Yeah, it's pretty cool.  Well, except for the whole "giving thanks" thing.  If you haven't noticed, I get pretty hung up on the whole "higher power" thing, and the idea of thanking this invisible pink unicorn for stuff when really we all deserve the credit just burns me.  But this is not a rant (notice how it's not under "rants") and I want it to be positive.  So here goes...

I would like to thank my mother.  For basically everything.  You really want a list?  Okay, here's a list: she feeds me, she clothes me, she gives me a place to sleep, she sends me to school, she buys me random presents, she bakes yummy stuff for me and my roommates, she gives me hugs, I can call her in the middle of the school day to bitch about some random classmate that bugs me, I can call her in the middle of the night if I wake up in a panic, she tries to understand all of my oddities, she listens to me when I go off on rants, she listens to me when I talk about science even though her eyes glaze over a bit, she trusts me enough to talk to me about how she's feeling, she trusts me enough to leave me the house when she's traveling the world, she respects that my world revolves around horses and dogs even though hers doesn't, she doesn't yell at me when I come home covered in mud, she would kiss my boo-boos if I needed it, she lets me tell her if her outfit is heinous, she tells me if my outfit is heinous, I could call her fifty times a day and she'd only screen my calls if she knew I was panicking and digging myself in deeper, she would know if I was panicking and digging myself in deeper, she does most anything to see me smile, she puts up with my high-strung terrier because she knows I love him, she only nags me about getting a summer job occasionally, she'll eat lunch at Panera bread three days in a row because I want to, she'll drive me endlessly back and forth from the stables, she lets me borrow her socks, she raises and eyebrow at chocolate cream pie that I snuck into the grocery cart but doesn't take it out, I can send her my unfinished essay and she'll read it and give me pointers over the phone, she gets me tshirts with owls on them whenever she sees them, she doesn't freak out when I curse (usually), she helps me run around in a panic to get everything ready for a ceremony, she puts up with my perfectionism, she calls me on my perfectionism, she helps me organize things when I'm  freaking out about schoolwork at midnight, she doesn't pretend I was a perfect child... let's see; what else?  Oh: she loves me unconditionally and she will always love me and I'm pretty sure she has loved me forever despite the fact that she only learned of my existence twenty-odd years ago (it has to do with the multiverse).

I would like to thank my grandparents; all of them, but one set in particular.  The list is basically the same, though the specifics are different, but you get the gist.  Most of all, I would like to thank my grandparents for being my second parents.  They have given me a foundation to stand on, and I know that I can always come back and they'll be waiting with open arms.  And they love me.  Not "they love me, too" because "too" implies that it follows something, and their love does not follow; it deserves its own continent.  They each deserve their own continent.  Grandmasia and Grampalia.

I would like to thank my cousin.  He is like my brother, and we've had our differences but we've never been closer than we are now.  I want to thank him for his success; I am so proud of him and all he's accomplished, and how he's turned out to be a really great person despite all the adversity in his life.  I want to thank him for being cool with the fact that I'm crazy, and being okay with me thinking he' s crazy too.  I mean, everyone's crazy, but we're special.

The rest of the thanks are pretty general; there were just some outstanding ones.  You know how it is.  I would like to thank everyone I've known for making me who I am today.  I'm still here so it can't be all bad...  I would like to thank everyone in my family for everything they are.  I would like to thank all of my classmates for everything they are (yes all of them).  I would like to thank the academy.  I would like to thank all of my teachers, especially some really great kindergarten and high school teachers.

So there you have it; not a complete list but I don't think I'd actually be able to put the real list down in time for thanksgiving in ten years.  This guy sorta sums it up pretty well.  So that's my challenge to you: this thanksgiving, seek out the real people in your life and let them know that they have the credit.  And enjoy the time you have with the people you love; that's the most important thing in the world.

Happy Thanksgiving! ~argent wolfwing

'Tis the Season, 'Cuz The Darkness Won't Let Up For A While

This season always seems dark to me.  Yes, it's literally dark, but I mean metaphorically, like everyone's hiding something.  It feels forced, like the people are gilded.

Maybe it is as simple as the literal darkness; most of our days are spent in darkness this season.  And you know how if you're in a room with windows no amount of light inside can make you forget the dark.  In fact it seems to emphasize the darkness, and the light seems like a facade.

I don't know if there was a time that I didn't feel the creeping darkness of the season.  In high school I did learn to associate Xmas with my parents' divorce and the forced cheer everyone put on, but I don't think that's the root of it.  I seem to remember this feeling before that time, like some insidious darkness-creature was trying to gnaw its way out of our bones, hiding behind the ruddy glow of cheerful faces.

Strange thing, but I always remember Christmas songs about love, and [yes, even] the Biblical Christmas story filling me with sorrow, like something was supposed to happen, but didn't.

I like the Roman answer to the season (which not-so-incidentally is why Christmas is on Dec 25th and not when scholars place Jesus' birthday) which is the Feast of Mithras.  Mithras was sort of a bestial god (pure, in a primal sense), probably a Roman god of war (who wasn't?) and therefore pretty popular with soldiers.  Mithraism (a Roman mystery religion) may have been a semi-serious competitor with early Christianity, so early Christians kind of took over Mithras day. which is the 25th. (Look at the 3rd and 4th paragraph of "Relationship with Christianity")

Actually, now that I think about it, I like this Roman feast day for the same reason I like all of them: it recognizes the humanity of humans.  We are all just cultured animals and honoring the warriors is a good way to acknowledge the beast (obviously no offense to any soldiers, but you've got to admit that fighting is not very human in origin).

And beyond the fact that I feel a mysterious sort of visceral sorrow at this season, maybe this season is when we all "get back to basics," in a way.  The days are shortening, the weather's getting colder, it's time for the wild things to really get serious about the whole surviving thing.  Winter is the ultimate make-or-break scenario: unlike some other life-threat situations, no one can escape winter.  Whatever you do, it'll always be there, ready to threaten.  So maybe our primal bits recognize the threat (even though that threat is sort of irrelevant for humans now) and make us feel stressed, anxious, and sorrowful.

Mind Control: Who's Really in Charge?

I often wonder: who's running the show?  Is it me, or my mind?  Or are we the same?

I don't think we are.  I mean, if we were, there would be no issue of control.  If my thoughts were intrinsic in myself, I wouldn't have to school them.  This lends to my thoughts on the separation of the mind and body; our bodies do stuff we don't want them to do, so our bodies must not be intrinsic, in a sense.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that when I think of a person (or really of any living thing) I think of the cooperation (or not) of three separate entities: body, mind, and (*grimace*) spirit.  Soul.  Whatever you want to call it.  It's the fifth element (fire, air, water, earth, spirit).  All five elements (and no, I'm not one of those wackjobs that denies the existence of things like calcium and helium) are in varying amounts in every living thing, so yes, every living thing has a soul.  My soul is me.  I am my soul.  The body is a shell, and to an extent the mind is, too.  We tack a possessive adjective in front of these things: my body, my mind, my thoughts and feelings and ideas.  I know the possessive thing doesn't always work, because we say things like my soul, but my point is that I can have/own/possess a body and a mind, but I am a soul.  (Incidentally, next time someone tells you you're soulless, you can agree with them.  Just a thought.)  Think of old sailors talking about seafaring; you know how when a ship sinks they talk about how many souls were lost?

Enough semantics; semantics and arguing about words is so much fun I often get carried away. (sarcastic: "Really?")  This is important to me, so much so that I've spent many an hour lost in my head, thinking about the separation of mind, body, and soul.  Theoretically, if something (like spirit) was me, it would be completely under my control.  (Better:) I wouldn't have to tell it what to do.  There are a lot of things going on in my body and my mind that I don't know about or at least aren't consciously controlling; if you think about it that way, it's extremely fortunate for us that our bodies and minds aren't us.  For instance, I'm a biology major and so I have to learn about all the millions of molecular and cellular processes going on in our various tissues at any given time.  On many occasions I've thought to myself: "Isn't it a good thing that I don't need to know how my body works in order to live?"  Essentially, I'd have to understand every single cellular process and remember everything perfectly if I was going to go about consciously controlling my body.  Think of it like a construction site; if I was the foreman, I wouldn't want to have to know everything, and I probably wouldn't.  I'd have a few electrical engineers, some lumber specialists, and some guys who know all about building the framework and struts, and I wouldn't have to micromanage because they'd be able to operate independently, but in concert with all the other workers.  Read: I'd be totally screwed if my bodies was me.  So try to wrap your mind around the statement that our bodies and our minds are just that: our bodies and our minds, not us.  (I'll wait.)

Ready?  Okay, next question: am I in control of my mind, or is it the other way around?  My answer: both.

What an answer, right?  But psychologists and doctors and the guy down the street acknowledge the existence of two minds: the conscious and the unconscious (okay maybe not the guy down the street, but he also wears tinfoil hats, so...).  And the unconscious mind is defined [in some cases] as the stuff we don't even know about, much less control.  So wouldn't it be reasonable to jump from "I don't control it" to "it controls me?"  I think so.  That of course assumes that there has to be some controller somewhere in the equation, and I think that it's mine (not a part of me, as we already went over).

Well sometimes it is me, I think.  When an issue is under the purview of my conscious mind, it's in my control.  Therefore I--the soul--am controlling it.

Sum it up, you say?  Okay: I don't think anything can be put in a box.  I think that everything falls somewhere on a spectrum.  So any thought, any action is a blend of conscious and unconscious.  Nothing is certain.

What's your favorite color?

I have a theory about how we see colors; I came up with it a while ago, and I've got absolutely no evidence. But it's sort of one of those things that can never really be proven either way. Actually... we'll get to that.

I'm going to start my explanation with an assumption: that you have a favorite color. For the purposes of this post, I'm going to say that my favorite color is green (it's not as simple as just "green" but it would take a lot of space to explain and you'd grumble and say "aw, why are you wasting my time with this?" so we won't go into it). So my question is: why does everyone have a favorite color? As humans we like and dislike the same basic things, or at least as inexperienced children we do; warm is good but hot is bad, bitter is yucky and sweet yummy, and loud sounds hurt our ears but soft music is pretty. As we grow our tastes change and evolve, and we learn to like bitter things like coffee and loud things like rock music, but we all pretty much start off with the same hardwired instincts, bred into us by millions of years of natural selection. So why shouldn't it be the same with colors? What says we don't all like basically the same colors to start with?

The only way this works is if we see different colors when we believe we are seeing the same colors. What I mean is that when I see what we all call green (we'll call this aw_green), you actually see what I would call blue (aw_blue). But you call it green. When we both look at a color and call it red, I see something different than you, but we've both grown up seeing that color and calling it red so we don't realize we're seeing different things.

"Okay, but how do you explain the fact that individual colors are created by measurable wavelengths of light?" Color is, at the root, about neurological perception. Perhaps there is even a psychological element, with experience influencing our perceptions. But the point is, color isn't something our eyes see, it's something our brains create from the signals they're sent. In effect, color is a fabrication of our minds.

The only way I can think of to test this is with some kind of neural scan, maybe an fMRI.  But if different colors don't produce visibly (to an MRI) unique responses in our brains, we're sunk.  If they do, then they could set baselines for a bunch of different people and then show them different colors and watch the magic.  Of course, there's all sorts of other variables too; someone might always think of dear old Grams who died last year when they see that shade of purple, and someone else might remember that time they were almost hit by a car that was that exact navy blue.

Also, studies have shown that certain colors can semi-reliably elicit certain emotional responses, varying even more with your cultural and personal experiences. (See this abstract at The Journal of Cross-Cultural Psychology)

Maybe the best way to test this would be with filters.  I mean, you could put a subject in an MRI and show him color blocks (just a square of color, not an object of that color), then put different-colored lenses in front of the image and see if anything on the fMRI matches up.  Maybe it could work.  Somehow, you'd have to influence the wavelength of the light getting to the subject's retina...

Following Time (Also: Time's Following Me)

I'm still puzzling over the nature of time.  I can't help but think of relativity in an Einstein-ian sense, specifically time dilation; the theory of relativity seems to suggest that time is subjective.  I was listening to the Radiolab podcast called "Falling" and in the first section they talk to a neuroscientist named David Eagleman author of several books about life and living and death and dying (I realize that's an accurate description of pretty much anything in the world…).  He talks about that life-or-death moment, when you fall off a roof (as he did) or when you're on an out-of-control horse (like me) and time