For having departed, you sure do post a lot. =) or, as Jayne might say, you're "spry for a dead fella."
But to be serious, I am glad you keep coming back. If nothing else (which, to say such, is discounting quite a bit out of hand), you seem to keep a cool head under fire; an admirable trait, to be sure. Theatrics aside, that is.
My departure remains a lasting one. Think of it as moving out of town. The Compendium no longer interests me as it once did; I don’t “live” here anymore. But this is not to say I have
exiled myself. Where there is interest, there is Josh, and as you can see I have dropped in to say hello from time to time. ZeaLitY and I chat online, and sometimes he will tell me about the latest here at the Compendium. He mentioned the other night that Kripsin had “thrown the book at him,” or some such, and I was curious as to what exactly that meant. Strange, though, was ZeaLitY’s reply, and so I chimed in.
Your mention of my “theatrics” is an interesting one. I was not expecting to settle this thread down, which seems to be what happened. Usually, with me around, the reverse happens. I had expected nothing better than to give ZeaLitY a moment of aid, and Krispin one of his ever-so-well-earned rebukes, but for whatever reason my one-man-show hit its mark this time and had exactly the desired effect.
What you call “theatrics” is nothing more than comprehensiveness on my part. I find it useful to engage people at the emotional
as well as the intellectual level, especially when they are in the wrong. Intellectual argument may be unpersuasive—how often have you observed people to change their mind on the spot because of being bested in an Internet debate?—and so emotional argument adds an edifying dimension to the whole process, making it less of a waste. You know what I mean: People who react emotionally tell us a lot about themselves. Plus there is always the slim chance that my opponent will go berserk and discredit themselves in a frothing rage—a technical victory.
Krispin has often criticized my arguments for being devoid of relevant content, and truth be told I have never written anything of white paper quality here, and only occasionally have I risen even to the academic level of disquisition. Nevertheless, his complaint is simply the result of his own emotional resonance with my argumentative strategy. As objectively as I can judge my own work, the intellectual component of my arguments has always been substantial—go read them for yourself, if you like—and yet I continually see those lines of thought disregarded or outright ignored simply because their conclusions do not fit with what the other side already believes. At some point, this gets old. One of my more recent posts here was some eighteen pages of exhaustive argument on multiple subjects, and yet it may as well have been written in invisible ink for all the merit-based replies it got. Which brings me to your next comment:
I do understand from personal experience the weariness that comes from engaging in what appears to be the same battles again and again.
You said it.
Snip…
That was a most gracious reply. I read it very closely. Well done; that sort of poise makes my day.
No Elf was greater than Feanor, the master artist, whose very name meant 'spirit of fire' (and I think the picture conveys that well.) But in the end that fire is what was his undoing. I guess that's how I see ZeaLitY... with a lot of fire and passion, but to me it seems like it might end up destroying him. We'll see. But at any rate, I should show him more respect.
We shall see, indeed. I take a great interest in that sort of thing. You may even be right about ZeaLitY. On the other hand, you betray a conflict of interest by pointing out that “no Elf was greater.” To put it another way, I think your (nominal?) regard for Z comes from the same source as your (perhaps also nominal?) frustration with him.
Contrary to your vision of me, I adore being challenged, and debate is amongst the things I love the most.
You have a poor way of showing it. I will leave it at that.
My worldview IS malleable, and I must say has changed in the past few months with my philosophy classes: my professor is an agnostic who is not above mocking my faith, yet I've never had a whit of trouble with his abrasiveness: he has actually become something of a mentor and friend to me, more so than any other professor ever.
I would like to assume the best here, but of course I cannot. Instead, I shall await time’s verdict.
To be sure, anything you or any other atheist says makes a lot more sense to me, and I'll consider it a lot more, than many others you might happen across.
I’m not an atheist. With regard to the manmade deities, I am, but in the cosmic sense I am agnostic. We have been over this before.
Even so, I appreciate the olive branch.
I wish I could be more charitable in turn, but I have nothing to give. I have spent many years pondering the religious questions and having conversations and debates with religious people, and
nonreligious people. I have formulated conclusions where possible, and leave question marks where needed, to arrive at a point of view on the premises and particulars of religion and faith. Having reached a functional philosophy of religion, I have since moved on to secular activism in the furtherance of my antireligious goals.
My worldview remains malleable just as you say of yours, but mine is proven as well, which is not a contradiction as “malleable” and “proven” are not the same thing, and just because I leave open (on principle) the possibility of new information or a change in circumstances, there is no reason not to call my views “proven” barring such developments—so, Kripsin, judge my judgment to be flawed as you must, but there is nothing in the whole Christian arsenal of conviction that I have not yet encountered in some form. A brazen claim, perhaps, but it is a candid one.
On that ground, at least, you can view me at least as a sympathetic enemy.
If we had met earlier in life, I might have been able to say the same of myself with regard to you. Unfortunately for you, I have already met every argument you bear, at the hands of other people, and if there is one thing I have shown you not at all it is sympathy. That’s too bad, because you probably deserve some. Yet when I look at your arguments, earlier in this thread or elsewhere, “sympathy” is not what occurs to me. You have some atrocious beliefs. Perhaps they have become less atrocious with time as you have matured intellectually, but only modestly at best. Overlooking your attitudes on females, your disregard for the scientific method is foremost among these ideological atrocities. The scientific method, far from being theocratic, draws upon the predictability of the physical world. It works not because we say it works, but because
it works. The civilization we inhabit exists because people have learned how to manipulate this world in a predictable way. Contrast that to the faith which you so acclaim: How can billions of contradictory and unverifiable acts of belief possibly lead to any sort of truth, other than the truth of the absurd?
I know Kant, and what he said to all the peoples of the Earth I say now to you: So act that your principle of action might safely be made a law for the whole world. What would you have it be, then? A world where we can concoct any premise at all, call it faith, declare it the highest truth, and behave with folly? Or a world where our behavior acknowledges only the truths of matter and energy, as told by empirical evidence?
A world of fiction, or a world of truth, that is the question. But the fact of the matter is that our answer is necessarily constrained: We live together in the world of truth. Our own concoctions do not exist in the mind of the next person, and yet the realities of air and food and gravity bind us all. What else was it that Kant said? Ah, yes: Experience without theory is blind, but theory without experience is mere intellectual play. Well, experience has spoken. Daniel Krispin, there is something more essential to physical consistency than you yet realize, and that is our own shared existence as corporeal entities. Faith is one way for us to build towers in our own minds, but for us to exist outside of our own minds, and build towers together in this material world we share—for the human hand to leave its mark on your god’s supposed creation—
that requires we acknowledge the consistency of this world, and seek to understand it wherever possible—which is to say, scientifically, mathematically, and artistically. I would have you choose a world where we discover the smallest truths with microscopes instead of Bibles, and, until you are willing to make that concession, I simply have no sympathy to offer. The only acceptable religious creed is the one that lays claim to no objective truth…but why call such a thing a religion, then? This is the conundrum all religionists face.
I have reasons and arguments for my belief. You might not think them to be good ones, but at any rate I'm not one to take everything 'just because.'
I am sure of it.
That makes me more difficult to argue with than someone you can surprise with things they didn't know. So long as my world view is built on such knowledge, I am unshakeable. Nothing science tells me can change it, because I'm up to speed with science, and quite enjoy the field. Yes, I am a scientist; yes, I am a historian. You might not like the school under which I was taught (which is, in fact, the mainstream secular one, and nothing revisionist), but I am a historian and student of literature nonetheless.
I will accept “student of literature.” Not the others. Of course you may style yourself however you wish, but you should not expect to be regarded with scientific, historical, or philosophical credibility until you actually
earn it.
You got your degree in mechanical engineering, yes? I would not be surprised if you do indeed know a great deal about math, about scientific procedures and jargon, and about various industrial applications pertaining to your studies. But even the degree itself is not the mark of a scientist, or a philosopher, or a historian. Having a collection of books does not make you any of those things either. Nor does reciting the names of other people and figures, which you so love to do.
The mark of excellence is to
demonstrate excellence. You have demonstrated to me an impressive working knowledge of some things—your knowledge of at least some Greek literature being an example—but not a mastery of science, not of history, and not of philosophy. I see no excellence there. You may yet become a scientist, a historian, a philosopher, or perhaps you are further along in your life than I realize and simply fail to display it here, but for the time being I reject your claims.
And furthermore, if you desire proof of my inquisitiveness, here are some interesting things I happened across in the last little while. Firstly, I've finally managed to secure my belief that the Greek word 'Heros' is etymologically related to 'Vir'... a matter vastly fascinating, as it means that Heros is also connected to the English 'Were'. Alright, so that sounds rather dry, but that's my philological side at work, which is very inquisitive at times. As far as literature... I've learned, quite to my fascination, that the Iliad is in fact most likely born out of the same Middle Eastern literary/mythological tradition that gave rise to the old Hebrew writings of the OT. In particular, there are literary parallels between the Iliad and Isaiah which point to a cohesive mythological style that both stem from. It appears that the author of the Iliad knew of such works as the Epic of Gilgamesh and made use of it. In the same way that Hebrew myth took certain attributes of the deities of the surrounding peoples and applied them to their Yahweh, in particular the warriors aspects of gods like Ba'al and Anat. Fascinating, isn't it? There's my curiosity for ya! And see? Nothing particularly revisionist about it, but all good, current, scholarship (if you want to check out the latter, it's in a book by someone called Louden.) And the etymology... well, the proof lies in the comparison between the Greek Hestia to the Latin Vesta, and Greek Hesperos to Latin Vesper. Plainly the 'digamma' of the Greeks (which fell out of use, but was retained in Latin as a V) CAN become an aspirate. I was aware that an old 'S' can become an aspirate (as in the Greek Hepomai, related to the Latin Sequorem') but this was the proof I needed to show that etymologically Heros and Vir might be connected. In usage they are quite connected, after all.
You are, after all, a very interesting person, and if I have been harsh thus far now let me be generous. The Daniel Krispin who wrote the above paragraph is not the one I know. He is a better person than the Krispin I know.
I knew that you are creative, and intelligent, and devoted to your love of that which you so lovingly put on display here. And I knew that you are the sort of person to have a distinct reason for everything you hold; you are definitely not a “just because” sort of character. The Daniel Krispin I know, from my encounters with him, is dogmatic in his unwillingness to accept that which contradicts him; he is selective in his attempts to assert his worldview based on logic and the historical record. He is uncritical of his own arguments and positions. And, yes, that Daniel Krispin is incurious. What do I mean by that last one? I mean that he—that you—think very highly of yourself, more so than in my opinion is warranted. Curiosity requires above all else the presence of mind to recognize (even subconsciously) that
the world is larger than one’s
own world.
I am very similar to you, except for your uncanny distinctions, which is probably why you fascinate me so much. I am not “dogmatic” but
experienced. I take a very hard line on some subjects—a small number of subjects, really—not because my opponents are determined but because I know what I am talking about. You are just the same, except that you often think you know what you are talking about when in truth you do not. That is hardly a rare trait—for one to pretend more knowledge than they genuinely possess—but for as fine an actor as yourself to tell that tale is worth remark.
Likewise, I am not “selective” at all, or anything close to it, but like yourself I prize logical validity and historical basis in my arguments, and it stands out immediately when you abuse logic and history, then come around and criticize your opponents for being fallacious and historically uninformed. There is no good reason for you to hide from your religion’s ugly past, other than to shield yourself from an uncomfortable truth. But the cost is high: Others view you with legitimate suspicion and incredulity.
Then: I am not uncritical of my own arguments and positions, far from it, but I speak with the same degree of conviction that you do, even though yours stands upon such a profoundly weaker foundation. Unlike yourself I detest arguments and will avoid them when possible, for reasons both of style and disposition. I only make arguments on positions of high importance, and only when I understand the subject well enough to have formulated a sturdy position. I don’t go into battle unless I am confident I can win, and thus surrender and compromise rarely come up for me. (I much prefer conversation, not argument, or some variation of the dialectic.) Thus it may seem that I have an opinion on everything, and am just as forceful in my attitudes on which flavor of gum is the best as I am on sexism, when in fact I am very conscientious of putting my credibility on the line, and only do so when I have a winning case—which I will then prosecute to the end. You are far less critical, to the point of being uncritical, of your own arguments, perhaps because, as you say, you like to argue. It could be that argument is your way of learning—but if that were so, I would expect you to acknowledge defeat more often. Instead, you are obstinate.
Lastly, this curiosity aspect is where you are the most uncanny. You are obviously an intelligent person, and of course the only way to have gotten to that point is to have always pursued questions like that of the relationship between
heros and [/i]vir[/i]. So, yes, I grant your power of volition inside your own world. But while a lucky few of us come to our view of the world by being truly enamored of the nature of
all things, most people come to their worldview by settling comfortably into what they already know, and slowly building upon that. This is a view of the world forged not by the love of discovery and creation, but the love of self-validation, and reveals itself in the form of extreme narrowness—not necessarily in areas of interest, but in the circumstances under which curiosity is triggered. You are such an individual, and do not possess curiosity as I define it, yet you have built up the persona of a great intellectual and a mighty creator of new ideas in your own right. Uncanny.
Am I off?
If, however, you are still in possession of an open mind, howsoever fractionally, then it may indeed be that you, like Burning Zeppelin, are changing for the better in recent times. Your position and disposition in the recent posts of this thread does not bear that out, but your own reply to me at least suggests it, and perhaps your religious philosophy class is doing more to open your mind than I had thought. If so, then you may well be on the road to redemption, but first you would have to contend with your preexisting behavioral tendencies, and a lifetime of fallacy. Yours would be a difficult awakening, both behaviorally and psychologically.
Heh, okay, so maybe that doesn’t sound particularly “generous,” but if only you had more of an exposure to me outside of this context, you might see what I mean by it. Perhaps you grasp it even so.
I was totally challenged on what I believe regarding the omnipotence of God, you know? It has breathed the heart of a philosopher into me, whether you like it or not. I might not be YOUR sort of philosopher, but I am one nonetheless.
Not yet you aren’t. You have had an illuminating experience in your philosophy of religion class, and now you seize upon those ideas to which you were exposed that made the most sense to you. There is nothing philosophical about that; it simply means you enjoy the subject of philosophy.
I too took a philosophy of religion class in college, perhaps a less extensive one than yours, if you have been in it continuously for all this time. Nonetheless, I was exposed then to almost everything you have ever mentioned on the subject. I shared at the time the excitement you exhibit today. My instructor, ironically, was a theist, and a very competent teacher. I, of course, was one of a tiny number of star pupils who met with him after class or outside of class to further the conversation. He told me, at the end of the term, that I had serious potential, and I took him literally. I was not a philosopher yet, and I knew it even then. But I had the interest, and I had the brains for it.
It was what I did in the years following that class—and by no means was it
just that class—which helped me to develop a comprehensive worldview and the lucid mind that guarantees (i.e., warrants) my dazzling conceits today. Even today I am not sure whether I can justly call myself a philosopher.
Maybe, but there is still much I have to learn, and I am not as shameless as you may think. I love to boast, but only when I can back myself up. Otherwise, never. I play humble. Now this is not your practice, my triumphant Krispin. Yet perhaps it should be, for you are a good ways behind me in your exposure to, and lengthy digestion of, the precepts of the philosophy of religion.
I think you're just not willing to admit it... I've got a hell of a lot of curiosity and passion in me, and it's just not compatible with your view of Christians.
Not at all. Your religious viewpoints follow from your overall disposition, not the other way around. Undoubtedly the religiosity of your childhood environment bled into you as you grew up, but your villainy is not simply a matter of your religion.
I have Christian friends—as if I should even need to make such a remark. One of these is the only Poet I have ever met—by which I mean somebody with the
soul of a poet—is a committed, activist Christian. There is so much about him that is amazing, and his Christian side is not quite so toxic, that I gladly count him as a meaningful friend.
While it is true that the specifically
Christian aspects of someone’s personality rarely interest me, it is also true that for most Christians there are a number of points of divergence where their overall personality is not ruled by Christian thinking. This is the space where friendships can be cultivated between Christians and the likes of me. I grant unconditionally that Christians can be otherwise fascinating people.
Maybe you need to make a new category? I'd not be surprised, Lord J. Fact is, I don't fit categories all too well.
Yes you do. Your categories just have fewer people in them.
We can all be categorized. No one is so unique as to exist without precedent on this world. Perhaps Leonardo came close, or Mozart, or Sagan, but, in this game, “close” is as meaningless as the “almost” before “infinite.”
I always chastise people who claim they are beyond classification, as if they mean to imply they are somehow special in the spirit of that old Roman adage, “all excellent things are rare.” I suppose we want to think of ourselves that we have something unique to offer the world. In fact some of us do, but it is almost never our personality that we can offer. Nor, most of the time, is it our ideas. Much more often, that which we are able to contribute—that which makes us special—is that extent to which we can formulate good ideas—original or not—and
see them done. Implementation—action—is what has the greatest chance of being unique. One idea, many facets. How many people looked at the sky before we got Stonehenge, or the Pyramids? Or the Starship Enterprise, for that matter? How many people in colonial America wanted a better shake by the British government before we got the American Revolution?
The human mind and lifespan are both finite, and so, then, the events and accomplishments which make up History give us a
unique taste of what possibilities our existence may entail. Everybody dreams, but who ended slavery in America? Who set foot on the moon before any other person? Who built the Statue of Liberty? Forgive me for these American-centric examples, but they are iconic in my culture, and perhaps Canada is not so far away as to blunt their impact for you.
Do you see what I mean, though? Your ability to be categorized is foregone; I categorized you almost as soon as we met. But you are the only person I have ever encountered, as yet, who blends together your various interests. Your personality is not unique. However, your specific life experiences are an unlikely enough combination that Lord J—that’s me—has never met anyone quite like you before.
Though I must ask one thing... what philisophical creed are you most fond of?
There is no one philosopher whose school I embrace. I have reservations with all of the philosophers I have yet studied. Some are complete throwaways; Aquinas is one example. In this day and age, a philosophy of religion class would do better to replace his chapter with the ingredients label of a can of dog food. He belongs, if anywhere, in a
historical philosophy of religion class.
In my own philosophical work, I have often discovered after coming to some premise that Socrates or Aristotle beat me to it by 2500 years, and so I do have some affinity for them (and of course for Plato).
Nietzsche, yes. Also Kant, to a lesser extent.
I have been greatly intrigued (and enriched) by aspects of Descartes, Spinoza, Machiavelli (of course), Russell, Rand, Hegel, and hell, it goes on and on. Few of the philosophers I have studied had nothing of interest to offer. I could as soon just write down a long list of every one of them I have read or studied, and maybe cross off a couple of the worthless ones.
Outside of Western philosophy I have had much less direct exposure, but many of the cultural elements that come out of Japan, for instance, also contribute to my philosophical awareness.
In addition to that, I treat philosophy as an area of human intelligence, not a profession, and so I find direct philosophical value in many people who were never thought of as philosophers at all. By that definition, Sagan is my favorite philosopher, although by profession he was a scientist. Borges, Ellison, Blake. Then, of course, I am fond of the Augustus and the original Julius. I read
Art of War and found endless canvas for the development of my own ideas, so that has to have some philosophical value.
I could go on, but I think your intention was to try and categorize
me, so let me offer you this decisive reply: I am my own favorite philosopher…even if I am not yet a philosopher by my own standards. Make of it what you will.
By the way, I was thinking... totally random and silly... but if we were the ancient Greek heroes, you can bet I'd be Amphiaraos. And you, you'd be Kapaneus, no doubt. I'm trying to figure who ZeaLitY would be. Orpheus, perhaps?
I’m not nearly as good as you are at Greek mythology. I consider myself an amateur at best; you are obviously much better studied. I had to look up Kapaneus (and Amphiaraos); I’d never even heard of him.
Anyways, just watch it next time before you say BS about me that is not true and say it like it's a fact, when you don't know the first damn thing about me.
On the contrary, I do know the first damn thing about you: You’re a sexist. You’re a number of other things too. How can I not know, when you
put it all out there for the rest of us to see?
Of course, this isn’t necessarily indicative of your character. After all, you go on to say to ZeaLitY that you have now discovered just how sexist the Bible truly is, and that that “heavily disagrees” with you. If that’s true, then do what I do when I discover that I’ve been being sexist about something: Don’t get mad. Get better.
But I've noticed in your posts that you assert a statistical correlation between faith and happiness. My response to this is "So?". Believers are an overwhelming majority, and hold such sway that they can often openly discriminate against the minority (nonbelievers) without fear of social or legal reprecussion. This has nothing to do with whether theism is correct or not, or whether religion is inspirational or not. Find me a majority that is less happy than the minority it can repress, and then you will have impressed me.
I had a discussion about this several weeks ago. First of all, I believe Krispin said something to the effect of “all the studies” show that religious people are happier. If you press him, you will find that he can only produce a small number of studies, and that some of these were funded or conducted by dubious sources.
Even so, let us grant that the findings represent something real. What, then, does it mean?
First of all, Radical Dreamer is correct. The religion’s majority status means that our culture favors the religious—especially mainline Christians and other large Christian sects.
But to go further than that:
People have different ideas of what happiness is, and I have yet to see a study that quantifies this term satisfactorily, and, as you know, any experiment which cannot isolate its variables is of limited value at best. One of the typical religious conservatives described as happier than other people might be basing their self-report of happiness by looking at their job, home, and kids, their church affiliation, and saying, “Well, I guess I’m doing all right for myself,” without actually
feeling the emotions of serenity, enthusiasm, thrill, joy, and so forth which collectively influence the condition we characterize as “happiness.”
Another thought that occurs to me is that religious people, and especially religious conservatives, tend to suffer from cultural backwardness and homogeneity. Their “happiness” often derives from participating in a simplistic, traditional society where mediocre norms are set out for them, everybody knows what they are expected to do, and high ambitions are shunted into religion or profitmaking. (That’s one of the reasons why there are so many more secular artists, writers, inventors, and the like…people who strive for more tend to be less satisfied with religion.) To be “happy” under this scenario requires much less than to be happy in a wider, more wondrous world...and, crucially, the relative payoff of happiness is correspondingly lower. Thus, it becomes an issue of the quantity of happiness versus the quality of it. Religion provides meaning and structure with prepackaged convenience, but the experience is often much less satisfying overall…although the human spirit may adapt to this diminished experience.
Meanwhile, religious people are much more often culturally isolated and ignorant—insulated by their religious worldview and their closed community. Worse, they benefit at the expense of other people. Their awareness is strong enough to note their own benefit, but not so strong as to note the injustice elsewhere. (This is, after all, a big part of what Jesus tried to point out.) Religious folks—not all of them, mind you; not necessarily even a majority of them, but religious folks all the same—are always the ones who fight against social and economic progress, even though civilization’s greatness can only be justified in terms of its progressive accomplishments. Nonreligious people tend to take a harder look at the world, and, not surprisingly, they see a much more complicated picture.
There’s no doubt about it: Religion gives many people some very powerful tools for deriving satisfaction of all sorts. That’s why religion began. However, we ought to look at the happiness which comes from religion in a broader context: The truths professed by religion, as well as the cultural norms, are quite disconnected from the best interests of humanity and the wider Earth. Religious happiness for individuals carries uncounted miseries for humanity on the whole, including innumerably individual people.
Let us also look at nonreligious people. By foregoing religion, they have to look elsewhere to derive meaning and cultural belonging. This is in the best tradition of the human spirit, but admittedly the experience is hard to summarize. I suspect that part of the supposed gap in happiness here is due to the fact that the religionists control the language and the norms of happiness in America, and quite possibly elsewhere, and thus the people who exist outside of that small box have a harder time finding points of affiliation or even plain expression. Are they truly less happy? Perhaps in the narrow sense of feeling like outsiders in their own land, but definitely not in the broader sense of happiness as described above.
One final thought: Religious folks lie. We ought to just take that for granted by now. At best we can call them untruthful; how else does one interpret a declaration of belief in, and obedience to, a god who does not exist, whatever religion it may be? Religious people are constantly reinforced to trust, love, and respect their religion and its instruments. Many people undoubtedly inflate their happiness on these reports because they would feel embarrassed to tell the truth…as if that were a swipe against their god or their church, or even an admission of spiritual inadequacy.
One final note: Religion helps people to avoid probing the depths of their own mind. Delving so deep into ourselves is, necessarily, a journey that involves the shedding of bliss and a certain loss of innocence. To less intelligent people, and to those who are overwhelmed in the course of their journey, this may indeed, legitimately, impact their happiness detrimentally.
