I've often heard it said that, "Nothing fails like prayer." Why, then, are there so many who attest that they've been healed by God?
Not to worry: I'm not going to go into a long-winded description of confirmation bias, regression to the mean, or the problem of evil.
Why don't we participate in a little thought experiment? They're rather more cost-effective to conduct than the real thing, after all. So: Assume that twenty men are diagnosed with terminal cancer, and that all of them pray for healing. If all but two of them die. So what's our success rate? Ten percent. But these two men who prayed for healing and did not die will in all likelihood report that their prayers were answered, and that God cured them of their cancer. Where are the other eighteen men whose prayers were not answered? They were, unfortunately, unavailable for comment. Our reported success rate? One-hundred percent.
This is why anecdotal evidence is worthless when it comes to objectively evaluating truth-claims. When it comes to prayers for healing, God, in his infinite wisdom, has cooked the books.
28 May 2009
27 May 2009
"I am more moral than your god."
I enjoy saying inflammatory things to Christians—well, to religious folk in general, really. One of my favourites is: "I am more moral than your god." But how can that be?
Well, I, for one, would never accept human sacrifice. "Whoa!", replies the fundamentalist; "Abraham never sacrificed Isaac [or Ishmael, if your fundamentalist happens to be of an Islamic bent]—that was all a test!" Putting aside, for the moment, the horrific nature of the request—regardless of whether Yahweh was just screwing around—you need to realise that Abraham must have believed that this was the sort of thing that his god might legitimately ask him to do. And what right does Abraham have to sacrifice Isaac in the first place (aside from being one of the Good Book's super-Jews*)? Isn't it less of a sacrifice (which implies property; this might be an opportune moment to mention that contrary to popular belief, the child in question was well past the age of majority, if I recall correctly) and more of a murder?
It turns out that, regardless of the answers to these questions (which I'm sure are all very interesting), it doesn't matter, because I wasn't talking about Abraham and Isaac, anyway. I was talking about Jephthah.
Now Jephthah doesn't get a lot of press, which I think is sort of a shame, because I find his story much more interesting than Yahweh's daring, last-minute rescue of Isaac at Mount Moriah. (God seems to have a slight tendency to set up complicated situations which will allow him to play the hero, doesn't he? I mean, wasn't that the whole point of sacrificing himself to himself in order to allow himself to forgive mankind for not living up to the impossibly high standards that he set up in the first place? Why not just forgive the poor bastards? Why go through the whole ridiculous pantomime? But I digress.) In the story of Jephthah (at least the part of the story that we're examining here), the man makes a rather ill-advised (in retrospect) vow to the effect that if God will allow him victory over the Ammonites, he will sacrifice as a burnt offering what-/whoever comes out of his house to greet him when he returns from the slaughter (or, to phrase it more politically, as Jephthah did in the Book of Judges, "when I return in peace from the people of Ammon"). Considering that this is where his family lives, and people tend to be more ambulatory than, oh, I don't know, anything that you might realistically want to set on fire, this particular promise might seem somewhat unwise.
But hey, hindsight is 20/20, right?
To make a moderately long story approximately the same length, our hero returns triumphant and his daughter rushes out to greet him. This distresses him slightly, as you might imagine, and as an act of kindness he gave her two months to prepare her affairs (there is some implication that he was giving her a chance to "get her freak on", but this allegation may be scripturally indefensible) before he lit her on fire. I'm sure that it seemed as good a solution as any.
So. It doesn't seem like Yahweh was testing anyone's faith that time, does it? Some apologists might argue (no, really? you're kidding!) that this was not as morally indefensible as it might appear. Perhaps God wasn't paying attention (had he left the kettle on?); after all, he didn't initiate the bargain. But he did accept the sacrifice: no angel stayed Jephthah's hand.
It seems that God doesn't accept human sacrifices anymore. What, did he change his mind? That strange thing for a God who knows everything about everything, past and future. Why not set up the right set of laws to begin with? So much for moral absolutes.
But moral absolutes are a terrible way to go about morality anyway. Context is everything. Is it always morally wrong to kill? Of course not. What about self-defence? (And this is where the whole "Thou shalt not murder" argument breaks down; even if "murder" were a more accurate translation of the original Hebrew than "kill"—and I have it on good authority that it's not—this is, in fact, an example of situational ethics!) Again, is it always morally wrong to steal? Robin Hood, one of the most enduring folk myths in the western world, would beg to differ.
Apologists like to claim that, as our buddy Jehovah is the author of morality, anything that he commands is moral. He giveth, and he bloody well has the right to take away.
The problem with this argument, of course, is that when you ask a Christian if he/she would rape a child were God to command it, you will usually get something along the lines of, "God wouldn't ask that," which is petty avoidance of the question and an example of striking intellectual dishonesty. If it would be moral to rape a child if God commanded it, than morality is arbitrary, and subject to the whims of a being whose own scripture shows him to be callous and capricious. If it would not be moral, then the definition of morality does not lie with God; he is merely a messenger-boy. And if you think that God would not ask something like this... Well, you just haven't read your Bible very well!
So: I've never drowned millions of people and billions of other animals in a worldwide flood. I've never been party to human sacrifice. I've never condoned rape or slavery or the subjugation of women. I take responsibility for my actions, and I expect others to do the same. I am more moral than your god.
Thanks (and recriminations?) are due to Matt Dillahunty and the rest of the cast of The Atheist Experience and The Non-Prophets for pointing me toward many of the topics covered in this rant.
* It occurs to me that some might find this statement offensive; please, settle down. Although I might find it a little sad that I need to explain what I consider to be a harmless bit of fun in this way, I understand that anti-Semitism is quite real and quite appalling. When I say "super-Jew", I am merely referring to a protagonist of the Old Testament who managed to spawn an entire nation, live to an implausibly old age, physically or verbally tussle with a deity, live inside a large sea-dwelling fish or mammal for several days, or generally do things that seem, in retrospect, to be of suspect historicity: Adam, Noah, Moses, David, and their ilk (or to the Jesus of the New Testament, considered by many to be the ultimate super-Jew). It is meant merely as a funny turn-of-phrase; if you don't find it amusing, please feel free to be horribly offended. If you'd like, we can discuss it over coffee and biscuits. You've got my email address; we can set something up.
Edit: In my haste, I forgot to mention that the arbitrary morality v. messenger-boy morality discussed in the third-to-last (excluding footnote) paragraph is based on the so-called Euthyphro dilemma, found in Plato's dialogue of the same name. These are not new ideas, but they are good ideas.
Well, I, for one, would never accept human sacrifice. "Whoa!", replies the fundamentalist; "Abraham never sacrificed Isaac [or Ishmael, if your fundamentalist happens to be of an Islamic bent]—that was all a test!" Putting aside, for the moment, the horrific nature of the request—regardless of whether Yahweh was just screwing around—you need to realise that Abraham must have believed that this was the sort of thing that his god might legitimately ask him to do. And what right does Abraham have to sacrifice Isaac in the first place (aside from being one of the Good Book's super-Jews*)? Isn't it less of a sacrifice (which implies property; this might be an opportune moment to mention that contrary to popular belief, the child in question was well past the age of majority, if I recall correctly) and more of a murder?
It turns out that, regardless of the answers to these questions (which I'm sure are all very interesting), it doesn't matter, because I wasn't talking about Abraham and Isaac, anyway. I was talking about Jephthah.
Now Jephthah doesn't get a lot of press, which I think is sort of a shame, because I find his story much more interesting than Yahweh's daring, last-minute rescue of Isaac at Mount Moriah. (God seems to have a slight tendency to set up complicated situations which will allow him to play the hero, doesn't he? I mean, wasn't that the whole point of sacrificing himself to himself in order to allow himself to forgive mankind for not living up to the impossibly high standards that he set up in the first place? Why not just forgive the poor bastards? Why go through the whole ridiculous pantomime? But I digress.) In the story of Jephthah (at least the part of the story that we're examining here), the man makes a rather ill-advised (in retrospect) vow to the effect that if God will allow him victory over the Ammonites, he will sacrifice as a burnt offering what-/whoever comes out of his house to greet him when he returns from the slaughter (or, to phrase it more politically, as Jephthah did in the Book of Judges, "when I return in peace from the people of Ammon"). Considering that this is where his family lives, and people tend to be more ambulatory than, oh, I don't know, anything that you might realistically want to set on fire, this particular promise might seem somewhat unwise.
But hey, hindsight is 20/20, right?
To make a moderately long story approximately the same length, our hero returns triumphant and his daughter rushes out to greet him. This distresses him slightly, as you might imagine, and as an act of kindness he gave her two months to prepare her affairs (there is some implication that he was giving her a chance to "get her freak on", but this allegation may be scripturally indefensible) before he lit her on fire. I'm sure that it seemed as good a solution as any.
So. It doesn't seem like Yahweh was testing anyone's faith that time, does it? Some apologists might argue (no, really? you're kidding!) that this was not as morally indefensible as it might appear. Perhaps God wasn't paying attention (had he left the kettle on?); after all, he didn't initiate the bargain. But he did accept the sacrifice: no angel stayed Jephthah's hand.
It seems that God doesn't accept human sacrifices anymore. What, did he change his mind? That strange thing for a God who knows everything about everything, past and future. Why not set up the right set of laws to begin with? So much for moral absolutes.
But moral absolutes are a terrible way to go about morality anyway. Context is everything. Is it always morally wrong to kill? Of course not. What about self-defence? (And this is where the whole "Thou shalt not murder" argument breaks down; even if "murder" were a more accurate translation of the original Hebrew than "kill"—and I have it on good authority that it's not—this is, in fact, an example of situational ethics!) Again, is it always morally wrong to steal? Robin Hood, one of the most enduring folk myths in the western world, would beg to differ.
Apologists like to claim that, as our buddy Jehovah is the author of morality, anything that he commands is moral. He giveth, and he bloody well has the right to take away.
The problem with this argument, of course, is that when you ask a Christian if he/she would rape a child were God to command it, you will usually get something along the lines of, "God wouldn't ask that," which is petty avoidance of the question and an example of striking intellectual dishonesty. If it would be moral to rape a child if God commanded it, than morality is arbitrary, and subject to the whims of a being whose own scripture shows him to be callous and capricious. If it would not be moral, then the definition of morality does not lie with God; he is merely a messenger-boy. And if you think that God would not ask something like this... Well, you just haven't read your Bible very well!
So: I've never drowned millions of people and billions of other animals in a worldwide flood. I've never been party to human sacrifice. I've never condoned rape or slavery or the subjugation of women. I take responsibility for my actions, and I expect others to do the same. I am more moral than your god.
Thanks (and recriminations?) are due to Matt Dillahunty and the rest of the cast of The Atheist Experience and The Non-Prophets for pointing me toward many of the topics covered in this rant.
* It occurs to me that some might find this statement offensive; please, settle down. Although I might find it a little sad that I need to explain what I consider to be a harmless bit of fun in this way, I understand that anti-Semitism is quite real and quite appalling. When I say "super-Jew", I am merely referring to a protagonist of the Old Testament who managed to spawn an entire nation, live to an implausibly old age, physically or verbally tussle with a deity, live inside a large sea-dwelling fish or mammal for several days, or generally do things that seem, in retrospect, to be of suspect historicity: Adam, Noah, Moses, David, and their ilk (or to the Jesus of the New Testament, considered by many to be the ultimate super-Jew). It is meant merely as a funny turn-of-phrase; if you don't find it amusing, please feel free to be horribly offended. If you'd like, we can discuss it over coffee and biscuits. You've got my email address; we can set something up.
Edit: In my haste, I forgot to mention that the arbitrary morality v. messenger-boy morality discussed in the third-to-last (excluding footnote) paragraph is based on the so-called Euthyphro dilemma, found in Plato's dialogue of the same name. These are not new ideas, but they are good ideas.
26 May 2009
The Wheel of Time turns and Ages come and go...
I am a big fan of The Wheel of Time, and have been since 1997, when a good friend of mine saw a copy of Lord of Chaos sitting on a shelf in our school library and, knowing my proclivity for reading such compendious tomes (I had tackled The Lord of the Rings in fifth grade, finally finishing it in sixth), dared me to give it a go. I replied, "I'd love to, but I'll have to read the other five, first." After some looking about, I grabbed The Eye of the World off of a nearby shelf and dove into the prologue.
Wow.
But this entry isn't about The Wheel of Time, or about how fantastically good (most of it) is. (Seriously, though, go read it.)
It's now twelve years later, and the author, James Oliver Rigney, Jr., has died, leaving the series unfinished. His widow, Harriet, has bequeathed the series to newcomer Brandon Sanderson, by all accounts a fantastic author, and the first part of what was to be the final volume (now split into three due to the massive amount of material that the author left behind) is scheduled to arrive in late October. We're all excited.
I own several of Brandon Sanderson's books (including a signed copy of his latest release, Warbreaker), and I subscribe to his podcast, Writing Excuses, but I must admit (with much chagrin) that I have yet to read or listen to either one. In my defence, I do read his blog regularly (paying the most attention to Wheel of Time-related updates), but I've been far too busy of late to have much time for reading anything longer than the instructions on a packet of toothpicks.*
As I've said, I'm given to understand that Brandon Sanderson is an excellent author, and I have no reason to doubt it. In reading his blog, interviews with him, and the like, I've developed quite a fondness for the fellow. Thus, I was (unaccountably) taken by surprise when he mentioned fellow congregants at his church. I sighed, said to myself, "He is American, after all," and let that be that. RJ was Episcopalian, and quite devout from what I hear.
Later, while browsing Wikipedia for updates to the Gathering Storm article, I came across his entry, and noted that he lived in Salt Lake City. My heart sank. I quickly dug deeper, and discovered that yes, Brandon Sanderson is a Mormon.
As I've said, I'd grown quite fond of the man, and learning that he is a Mormon is like learning that an acquaintance that you've come to admire is a practitioner of homeopathy. I spent a good-natured but ultimately useless forty-five minutes on the telephone with a young Mormon missionary last December, after he called at my home to spread the good word, and it disheartened me to picture Mr. Sanderson going door to door on mission work, proselytising for this peculiar Abrahamic space-alien cult.
Perhaps I'm being unreasonable; I have Catholic friends and Lutheran friends and "spiritual" friends (whatever the hell that's supposed to mean). But this, to me, is like having a Scientologist friend. There's no grand history associated with it; just sheer indoctrination into a transparently fictitious, absurdly unlikely, unapologetically misogynistic, unmistakably racist, nineteenth century cult founded by a convicted con-artist that professes God to be an all-powerful space alien from somewhere near the planet Kolob. (Or, at the very least, that's what it seems to boil down to.) And on top of all of that, they spend a good deal of their time annoying the rest of us. I simply cannot respect those beliefs, and it disappoints me that a person whom I've come to respect seems to hold to them.
But let's be fair for a moment. Although it seems true that Mormon beliefs are almost as ludicrous as those proposed in high level Scientology literature, it's entirely possible that Brandon Sanderson is not really a Mormon. I've heard tell of many people who continue to profess belief even many years after deconversion, for fear of losing family and friends (a very real fear, in both Mormonism and Scientology, from what I've read).
And even if that isn't the case, I, for one, will not let it spoil his books for me. I love and even respect people who hold all kinds of crazy beliefs. Either Brandon Sanderson holds beliefs that seem to contradict all known evidence (perhaps in ignorance of such evidence or, more likely, employing unintentional cognitive dissonance), or he professes to. We'll likely never know.
I fully intend to crack open Warbreaker as soon as I get home. I hear that it's a rousing good read.
*"Hold stick near centre of its length. Moisten pointed end in mouth. Insert in tooth space, blunt end next to gum. Use gentle in-out motion." Bonus points for anyone who gets the reference without resorting to Google.
Wow.
But this entry isn't about The Wheel of Time, or about how fantastically good (most of it) is. (Seriously, though, go read it.)
It's now twelve years later, and the author, James Oliver Rigney, Jr., has died, leaving the series unfinished. His widow, Harriet, has bequeathed the series to newcomer Brandon Sanderson, by all accounts a fantastic author, and the first part of what was to be the final volume (now split into three due to the massive amount of material that the author left behind) is scheduled to arrive in late October. We're all excited.
I own several of Brandon Sanderson's books (including a signed copy of his latest release, Warbreaker), and I subscribe to his podcast, Writing Excuses, but I must admit (with much chagrin) that I have yet to read or listen to either one. In my defence, I do read his blog regularly (paying the most attention to Wheel of Time-related updates), but I've been far too busy of late to have much time for reading anything longer than the instructions on a packet of toothpicks.*
As I've said, I'm given to understand that Brandon Sanderson is an excellent author, and I have no reason to doubt it. In reading his blog, interviews with him, and the like, I've developed quite a fondness for the fellow. Thus, I was (unaccountably) taken by surprise when he mentioned fellow congregants at his church. I sighed, said to myself, "He is American, after all," and let that be that. RJ was Episcopalian, and quite devout from what I hear.
Later, while browsing Wikipedia for updates to the Gathering Storm article, I came across his entry, and noted that he lived in Salt Lake City. My heart sank. I quickly dug deeper, and discovered that yes, Brandon Sanderson is a Mormon.
As I've said, I'd grown quite fond of the man, and learning that he is a Mormon is like learning that an acquaintance that you've come to admire is a practitioner of homeopathy. I spent a good-natured but ultimately useless forty-five minutes on the telephone with a young Mormon missionary last December, after he called at my home to spread the good word, and it disheartened me to picture Mr. Sanderson going door to door on mission work, proselytising for this peculiar Abrahamic space-alien cult.
Perhaps I'm being unreasonable; I have Catholic friends and Lutheran friends and "spiritual" friends (whatever the hell that's supposed to mean). But this, to me, is like having a Scientologist friend. There's no grand history associated with it; just sheer indoctrination into a transparently fictitious, absurdly unlikely, unapologetically misogynistic, unmistakably racist, nineteenth century cult founded by a convicted con-artist that professes God to be an all-powerful space alien from somewhere near the planet Kolob. (Or, at the very least, that's what it seems to boil down to.) And on top of all of that, they spend a good deal of their time annoying the rest of us. I simply cannot respect those beliefs, and it disappoints me that a person whom I've come to respect seems to hold to them.
But let's be fair for a moment. Although it seems true that Mormon beliefs are almost as ludicrous as those proposed in high level Scientology literature, it's entirely possible that Brandon Sanderson is not really a Mormon. I've heard tell of many people who continue to profess belief even many years after deconversion, for fear of losing family and friends (a very real fear, in both Mormonism and Scientology, from what I've read).
And even if that isn't the case, I, for one, will not let it spoil his books for me. I love and even respect people who hold all kinds of crazy beliefs. Either Brandon Sanderson holds beliefs that seem to contradict all known evidence (perhaps in ignorance of such evidence or, more likely, employing unintentional cognitive dissonance), or he professes to. We'll likely never know.
I fully intend to crack open Warbreaker as soon as I get home. I hear that it's a rousing good read.
*"Hold stick near centre of its length. Moisten pointed end in mouth. Insert in tooth space, blunt end next to gum. Use gentle in-out motion." Bonus points for anyone who gets the reference without resorting to Google.
I'm a Nutritionist, Now!
In keeping with the excellent advice found in the footnote on page 161 of Ben Goldacre's book Bad Science, I shall henceforth refer to myself as a nutritionist.
I sense that some qualifications may be in order.
To be clear, I'm not going to start doling out any complicated medical advice: nothing more complex than "eat your greens" or "avoid excessive consumption of intoxicants", at any rate. While I am qualified to provide guidance on how to train a neural network, set up cross-validation for a time-series predictor, or replicate go-to functionality with a for-loop, I am in no way qualified to provide medical or dietary advice. Much like, I dare say, most nutritionists.
But that's what this is all about, isn't it? I recall with amusement (and some trepidation, don't mistake me!) the recent attempt to allow exemptions to the Texas Higher Education Coordinating Board's requirements for postsecondary educational institutions, so that the Institute for Creation Research could start handing out graduate degrees. If that's allowed, suddenly a Master's degree from Texas is meaningless; much like a degree from a nutritionist college.
Again, let's be clear: I don't think that "nutrition" is bunk. I don't think that the study of nutrition is bunk. In fact, I am engaged to be married to an intelligent and lovely graduate of the Human Nutritional Sciences program at the University of Manitoba (who also happens to be a nominal Lutheran; more on that later, I'm sure). But before she can be classified as a dietician (note the terminology, here), she must undergo a one-year professional internship (between forty-two and fifty-two weeks of unpaid, full-time work in clinics, hospitals, and community programs). The difference between a dietitian and a nutritionist, in training and in professional practices, seems to me something like the difference between a medical doctor and a doctor of homeopathy.
So please, join me in calling yourself a nutritionist. It is an unregulated word, and we have as much a right to it as the pill-pushing quacks do.
I sense that some qualifications may be in order.
To be clear, I'm not going to start doling out any complicated medical advice: nothing more complex than "eat your greens" or "avoid excessive consumption of intoxicants", at any rate. While I am qualified to provide guidance on how to train a neural network, set up cross-validation for a time-series predictor, or replicate go-to functionality with a for-loop, I am in no way qualified to provide medical or dietary advice. Much like, I dare say, most nutritionists.
But that's what this is all about, isn't it? I recall with amusement (and some trepidation, don't mistake me!) the recent attempt to allow exemptions to the Texas Higher Education Coordinating Board's requirements for postsecondary educational institutions, so that the Institute for Creation Research could start handing out graduate degrees. If that's allowed, suddenly a Master's degree from Texas is meaningless; much like a degree from a nutritionist college.
Again, let's be clear: I don't think that "nutrition" is bunk. I don't think that the study of nutrition is bunk. In fact, I am engaged to be married to an intelligent and lovely graduate of the Human Nutritional Sciences program at the University of Manitoba (who also happens to be a nominal Lutheran; more on that later, I'm sure). But before she can be classified as a dietician (note the terminology, here), she must undergo a one-year professional internship (between forty-two and fifty-two weeks of unpaid, full-time work in clinics, hospitals, and community programs). The difference between a dietitian and a nutritionist, in training and in professional practices, seems to me something like the difference between a medical doctor and a doctor of homeopathy.
So please, join me in calling yourself a nutritionist. It is an unregulated word, and we have as much a right to it as the pill-pushing quacks do.
25 May 2009
Callipygian
Now there's a word that I don't see very often, anymore. I maintain that it deserves more use.
Welcome
First off, you'll note that I managed to restrain myself from titling this post "FIRST!!!1!" or something of the kind (but only just); best not to encourage that sort of thing. Secondly, my apologies: There isn't much to see at the moment, is there? No matter; these things take time.
My intention is to catalogue my thoughts here, now and again, as seems to be the fashion these days. Trivialities, amusements, philosophical ramblings, anecdotes and the like; I'm sure you've got the gist.
And so, welcome! Welcome to the wandering thoughts of a red-bearded, Anglo-Saxon sceptic; a bloody-minded, impious fool; a pedantic, sanctimonious churl; an affable, smirking, generally silly person. Welcome to my blog. Please do come again.
Edit: For clarity's sake, I ought to point out that those adjective-noun combinations all refer to me, and not four different people. Perhaps I need to undergo intensive psychoanalysis?
My intention is to catalogue my thoughts here, now and again, as seems to be the fashion these days. Trivialities, amusements, philosophical ramblings, anecdotes and the like; I'm sure you've got the gist.
And so, welcome! Welcome to the wandering thoughts of a red-bearded, Anglo-Saxon sceptic; a bloody-minded, impious fool; a pedantic, sanctimonious churl; an affable, smirking, generally silly person. Welcome to my blog. Please do come again.
Edit: For clarity's sake, I ought to point out that those adjective-noun combinations all refer to me, and not four different people. Perhaps I need to undergo intensive psychoanalysis?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)