Christians have been called upon by God to be the caretakers of the Earth since the first man appeared. We're also commanded to be good stewards of our money. It's with that attitude in mind that I present this article.
There are currently 1900 filling stations in the USA with E-85 fuel pumps. The number goes up considerably every year, and the trend is not going to go away. Despite attempts from the oil industry and its congressional cronies to defeat ethanol proponents entirely and send them packing, the grassroots efforts to bring ethanol into the 21st century are alive and well. I will attempt to be a political centrist in this article. In interest of full disclosure, my political leanings are mainly conservative. However, the topic of ethanol is one in which everyone, republicans and democrats alike, have been handed a fistful of misinformation thanks to the deep pockets of the oil industry.
I don't know if ethanol, hydrogen, or some other fuel will win out in the end. But as far as ethanol goes, there are no inherent problems with ethanol itself as a fuel alternative to gasoline; the problem is primarily with corn and corn subsidies. I've been investigating this a lot the past year after hearing David Blume, author of Alcohol Can Be A Gas, give a short talk about the benefits of ethanol and the many false claims about it. Here's a short rundown of much that I've discovered:
1. Corn is one of the worst crops to use for making alcohol/ethanol. It requires much more by way of farm equipment, underlying groundwater, and energy, yet it only produces between 350 to 500 gallons of ethanol per acre. It's simply not worth it trying to make ethanol out of corn, and no one in the greater ethanol industry supports doing so. Sugar cane, for instance, costs less than half the price of corn to make ethanol out of and produces twice as much ethanol in the process. So why do we continue to pay out all this subsidy money to farmers for growing corn? Because, believe it or not, farm lobbyists are extremely powerful critters. The one and only reason they have any power at all is because of the almighty Iowa Caucuses. If we would simply change early caucus locations every four years it would take away all the power that the farmer welfare kings now enjoy. Farmers are used to growing corn and have a lot of money invested in harvesting equipment and so forth that's corn related. Many are reluctant to change. But farm subsidies of any and every kind need to go! Enough of this welfare already.
2. Some of the better crops for ethanol are sugar cane at 900 gallons per acre, buffalo gourd & fodder beans 900 gallons, cattails 1,000 gallons, sorghum 1,500 gallons, switch grass 2,000 gallons, and industrial hemp possibly as much as 2,500 gallons. This last one is very controversial; however, there isn't an agriculturalist on the planet that won't tell you what a tremendous textile industrial hemp is/was. It's the strongest textile known to man which is why boat sails are still made from it (albeit from foreign farms). You can make some 10,000 different products from hemp including every single thing that comes from petroleum oil such as plastics. You can even make a darn good particle board from hemp. I for one would like to see hemp grown again in America. And, no, you cannot make marijuana from industrial hemp.
3. Ethanol detractors constantly talk about how much energy it takes to make ethanol. One of the many things they don't realize (or don't want you to) is that the byproduct of ethanol can be run through a digester to make methane gas. That same methane gas can then be used to heat your next batch of ethanol in the distiller. I've also read of complaints about ethanol not being suitable for sending through large pipelines for shipment like the oil pipelines in Alaska. This is silly. Few, if any, modern pipelines are made from iron. More importantly, crops for ethanol can be grown in every individual state, so there's no need to ship it through pipelines anywhere to begin with.
4. Nearly every detractor of ethanol not only bases all his arguments on corn, but will generally use it to tell you that it will take an incredible amount of land to grow all the ethanol crops we would need to become an all ethanol fueled country. However, Brazil is a good example of what the reality is. They import no oil whatsoever. They have quite a bit of their own oil for one thing, plus they raise sugar cane to make ethanol out of and then run a 50/50 blend in their cars. Sugar cane produces around 900 gallons of ethanol per acre. They grow all the sugar cane they need on only 2% of the land. They've been doing this successfully for over 20-years. They also have enough ethanol leftover to export to other countries every year. If they can do that, then it's hard to believe that we couldn't grow a crop that produces 1500 gallons, or more, of ethanol per acre and run on E-85. Switch grass and hemp will both grow just about anywhere by the way. In fact, it's been said that there's enough switch grass growing wild along the highways in Missouri to fuel every vehicle in the state for the next year. And if you're still concerned we might not have enough land on which to grow our ethanol crops, here's an idea: ban tobacco, the most useless excuse for a crop ever seen on the face of the earth, and use that land to grow ethanol crops. The only downside would be that healthcare costs would drop by at least 20%. Oh... wait....
5. Any gas based car can be converted to run on ethanol, although cars made before 1985 that have carburetors will need several more modifications. Most cars made after 1980 will do just fine with only a cheap converter kit installed. Of course flex fuel vehicles are ready to go.
6. There is nothing better that you can put in your vehicle than ethanol. You'll get around 15% more horse power than with gas. Your motor will have almost no carbon buildup at all which means it will last two to three times longer. Imagine getting 500,000 miles on your car before its first overhaul! There are almost zero emissions. Your motor will run so cool that in many cases you won't even need a radiator. Some naysayers claim that you'll get worse mileage; however, if you design a motor with ethanol in mind you can get better mileage than with gas. Also (and this is a biggie), ethanol burns over 98% clean. That means we can get rid of our catalytic converters and other pollution control items that kill our gas mileage and performance. Your fuel mileage will be considerably better with ethanol. We can also go back to making simple cars that we can all work on again. Wouldn't that be nice?
7. Ford's Model T was designed to run on ethanol. Both Henry Ford and Charles Kettering (of GM back in the day) referred to ethanol as "the fuel of the future". The only reason we're running on gas today is because Rockefeller and his oil baron pals got together and priced gas so cheap (even taking a loss on it for a few years) that ethanol couldn't compete back in the 1920s.
8. GM is plainly on the ethanol bandwagon and will have the world’s largest ethanol plant, 100 million gallons/year, up and running by the end of 2010, and they already have 2.5 million flex fuel vehicles on the road. GM has also invested heavily in Coskata, a company that's producing ethanol from agricultural leftovers and municipal and industrial waste. They claim to be able to produce ethanol for around a dollar a gallon in the near future using an entirely different technology in making it. They say: "During gasification, carbon-based input materials are converted into syngas using well-established gasification technologies. After the chemical bonds are broken using gasification, Coskata's proprietary microorganisms convert the resulting syngas into ethanol by consuming the carbon monoxide (CO) and hydrogen (H2) in the gas stream. Once the gas-to-liquid conversion process has occurred, the resulting ethanol is recovered from the solution using "pervaporation technology.""
9. One of the many myths about ethanol is that it will corrode engine parts, especially seals. This is only partially true. Ethanol is hard on gaskets and seals made from cork, and can eventually erode iron fuel tanks and lines (though it would take a long time) because of the small amount of water present in ethanol. Also, fuel pumps have to be made to withstand the slight electrical conductivity of ethanol. However, all cars made after 1980 or thereabouts have corrosion resistant tanks and fuel lines, they have no cork gaskets anymore, and they all have the correct fuel pumps. A lot of ethanol corrosion myths are based on ethanol's evil cousin--methanol--the stuff they use in race cars which is generally made from wood grain alcohol and is very hard on a motor. There's a fantastic video on YT showing the torn apart motor of a 2000 Chevy Tahoe which was run almost entirely on E85 for 100,000 miles. This vehicle is NOT a flex fuel vehicle, and it never had an ethanol converter kit installed. It was completely stock. I've never seen such a clean looking motor inside. Even the seals look like new:
10. The question on your mind should be, why doesn't the general public know all this? Why have we been sold this ridiculous bill of goods? Of course the answer lies where it usually does when politics are concerned--in money. Very simply put, ethanol has no rich men with deep pockets to fund campaigns or to even fund their own lobbyists, while the oil industry is so powerful and has so much money to throw at legislators, even funding their campaigns, that ethanol is completely shut-out. Big oil spent over $400 million in lobbying while Bush and Cheney were in office, and 80% of it went to republicans. (When Bush and Cheney, two oil magnets themselves, took office, they put together a special energy taskforce in 2001 and wouldn't tell anyone who was on it. It was later leaked in 2005 that every person on it was a representative from a big oil company). But now that the democrats are in control we're seeing big oil starting to toss quite a bit of money their way as well. Among all the people running for political office in 2008, the person who received the largest campaign contribution from big oil was John McCain. However, you may find it harder to guess who the person was that received the second largest amount. It was Barack Obama who raked in a cool million from them. Yeah, it's good to be president.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Seeing Around Invisible Corners
I've mentioned several times how much respect CS Lewis and JRR Tolkien had for John Dunne's dream experiments with Oxford students during the 1920s. These culminated in his seminal book, An Experiment With Time, about people who often dreamed of future events. Something that I think is just as interesting are the experiments Rupert Sheldrake did with cats and dogs that proved they can often find their way home from just about anywhere. Some dogs also showed an amazing ability to know the exact moment their owners were about to come home. The dogs would go over and sit by the door at the precise moment their owners were beginning their homeward journey. He wrote a book outlining his experiments called Dogs That Know When Their Owners Are Coming Home.
While I have very little use for psychology, and I think Carl Jung's dream archetypes are a bit silly, Jung did have a very honest outlook on the more strange abilities that humans show now and then. The following is from a TV interview he did toward the end of his life:
Isn't it nice those few times you come across a respected professional who acknowledges the incredibly obvious?
While I have very little use for psychology, and I think Carl Jung's dream archetypes are a bit silly, Jung did have a very honest outlook on the more strange abilities that humans show now and then. The following is from a TV interview he did toward the end of his life:
Interviewer: I know that you say death is psychologically just as important as birth and like it is an integral part of life, but surely, it can't be like birth if it is an end. Can it?
Jung: [W]e know that there are these peculiar faculties of the psyche--that it isn't entirely confined to space and time. You can have dreams or visions of the future. You can see around corners and such things. ONLY IGONRANTS DENY THESE FACTS. IT'S QUITE EVIDENT THAT THEY DO EXIST AND HAVE EXISTED ALWAYS. Now these facts show that the psyche--in part at least--is not dependent on these confinements. And then what? When the psyche is not under that obligation to live in time and space alone--and obviously it isn't--then to that extent the psyche is not submitted to those laws, and that means a practical continuation of life, of a sort of psychical existence beyond time and space.
Isn't it nice those few times you come across a respected professional who acknowledges the incredibly obvious?
Monday, May 31, 2010
Aberrations of Intimacy
This is one of those politically correct, or incorrect, topics that people with brains are smart enough to leave alone.
So, as I was saying... I'll be the first to admit I don't understand homosexuality anymore than I appreciate it. And quite honestly, I don't think I'm supposed to understand it. Sin is an aberration. Beyond that, the actual mechanisms of sin are something completely beyond human understanding. Only God can properly understand sin and properly hate it. That almost magical framework which supports sin and infuses our world with it is unknown to mortals. Negative thoughts, suggestions, appetites and habits are constantly poured into the cup of each soul. The bible tells us from whom they flow. It does not tell us how. At its most diminutive, sin preys upon the weakness of our flesh. These are appropriately referred to as sins of weakness. Sin begins to show its real strength, however, when it is premeditated. It then gathers even more steam and becomes the custom of small groups. And at its deadliest it takes on the function of a worldwide tradition just as human sacrifice once was.
If there's one characteristic of sin that stands out it must be that of senselessness. Not that all sins appear senseless at all times. For instance, to a lazy man, it must seem quite sensible to steal. But there's usually a root to sin that has no sense in it. In this case it is the laziness itself. Laziness provides no real function in life. Laziness enhances the life of no man, and lazy men do nothing to enhance society. It's not just that no good thing comes from it that should astound us though. It's that any man should ever think to be lazy in the first place. How did he ever conceive of such a way of life? Did the world's first lazy man actually conceive anything at all of laziness? Or did he merely act on impulse? Impulse! Ah, where did that impulse come from? How? And why? I also must say that the closer you look at the psychology professional's view on the impulse to sin, the more you come to realize his view is all smoke and mirrors. It's no secret that I have always had a very low opinion of psychology. There are simply no answers there--only men who put on the pretense of one who knows.
The only thing about homosexual acts that can in any way be construed as desirous is that of the physical pleasure some claim to derive from it. But physical pleasures cannot be thought of as positive or negative. They are simply physical states such as hot or cold. They are neither good nor evil. Physical discomforts are also neither good nor evil. They may not be desirous, but they are just a state of existence.
I would also quickly admit that I've heard locker-room talk where guys mentioned things their wives or girlfriends did with them sexually that seemed quite pleasurable to them, but which sounded just as strange to me as any homosexual act and sometimes just as sickening. Frankly, anything involving the word "anus" is disturbing, and to me, comes under the heading of mentally imbalanced. Is this a way of getting back at their parents for not allowing them to play in the city sewer system as kids? That might be the best answer a psychologist could come up with. But isn't it obvious that there's something very wrong, something very insensible going on?
Of course it hardly stops there. One of the more oddball intimate behaviors people sometimes engage in was immortalized by ZZ Top in the song "Pearl Necklace". Need I say more? My question is, what's the point? Physical pleasure? But couldn't performing the sex act in the normal way bring the exact same pleasure? What compels people to do the very strange?
These are the kinds of weird explorations I would expect of six year old kids if six year old kids could have sex. But is there anything about these acts that conjure up images of well-balanced adults?
Now I'm not letting myself off the hook here. For several years I had a thing for married women. I never once acted on the impulse, but still, the compulsion was there, and for the life of me, I don't know why. It made no sense whatsoever. The last thing I was looking for was a wife myself, so it wasn't like I was hoping any of these women were going to leave their husbands for me. That was the last thing on my mind. It was simply a kind of appetite, and maybe that's the word we should be focusing on.
An appetite in this case can best be described as a wild craving. For some it can even become insatiable over time. Life is about making choices. But where do those choices come from? I'm especially thinking of choices involving cravings that appear from within. Sexual appetite is often thought of as merely a physical and biological desire (or bio-physical if you like), but I see much more at work here because so often those cravings have little or nothing to do with the flesh. Normal humans have a physical craving for sex. But strange sexual aberrations begin from within and will manifest themselves even when the physical body is craving nothing at all. Our mind tells us it wants to have sex, and it wants to have it in an abnormal way, even though our bodies are telling us no such thing. I truly believe this is how many people get involved with weird sexual behaviors. They'll so often claim, "This is the only way I can do it", when the truth of the matter is that they could perform the act in the normal manner if they waited until their physical bodies were actually craving sex rather than just their minds. It's rather like a man saying he doesn't like water and can only drink a particular kind of imported wine when in truth he would gladly drink water if he were very, very thirsty.
I've mentioned before of how I once knew a married couple, both of whom were afraid of being in high places, not because they were afraid of heights, but because both of them felt the same insensible compulsion to jump.
These insensible impulses we feel in life have a way of bringing about self-hatred. It begins with a sort of disgust we have toward ourselves for even being tempted to act irrationally in the first place (perhaps because we allowed the impulse in) and ends with an all out self-hate when we fall completely out of control. I've always felt homosexuality was somehow a form of self-hatred. It's only recently that I've come to this understanding of why.
The things of God, however, are usually pretty straight forward. This in fact is one of the things that draws us most to him. We're bombarded with irrational impulses day after day, and if we give in to them, we know that irrationality is only a step away from insanity. But there is sanity in God. I often think this is what's being referred to by that "peace that surpasses understanding". It is simply sanity. A devotion to God is a devotion to all that is rational. It makes sense of the world and gives clarity to the mind.
If you ever try to talk rationally with a homosexual you will immediately find his world is full of irrationalities. I recently found myself having just such a discussion with one. The first thing he did was to say that I hated homosexuals. I of course said no such thing. He had instantaneously drawn the conclusion that if I thought homosexuality was wrong that I must hate anyone who does it. When I informed him that it was only the act that was the object of my scorn, he quickly replied, "The old hate the sin, love the sinner nonsense, eh? That's just a copout. Nobody buys that."
He then went on to say that since I had never tried homosexuality that I couldn't make an informed decision about it. I replied that I had also never tried murder, torture, rape, incest, biting off an ear, or poking out someone's eye with a stick either, but that all rational people realize such things are wrong.
Next he trotted out the old standby of how I was being "intolerant" and that he was promoting "openness and acceptance." I replied that he was being "permissive" that he was promoting openness and acceptance to something that most of the world considers to be a vice.
I also pointed out to him that, without fail, every single homosexual person I had ever encountered had been extremely self-centered and incredibly childish. Well of course he was just aghast at such a comment, but I was simply telling the truth. The fact is that every homosexual man I've ever met, or ever saw on TV, acted much more like a child than a woman. Richard Simmons is probably a pretty good example. I asked him how I could think of homosexual men as being "normal" well-balanced adults when they acted like children?
His only answer was that I must be bigoted. I said that I certainly was not but was only relating my impressions. I said that I had never known a homosexual that I felt comfortable being around but that I didn't see that as bigotry. There are in fact all kinds of people we don't like being around such as those who are childish, selfish, foolish, loud, obnoxious, rude etc. If I don't like being around a fool, does that make me a fool-bigot? Isn't it just common sense not wanting to be around a fool?
His last argument was perhaps the least sound of all and one I've heard many times before, and that was the fact that there are some animals that engage in homosexual acts. This in his mind made it all right for humans too. Actually, he went on to mention some studies done on rats which showed that they became more prone toward homosexual behaviors when their populations were increased within the same small area. The idea behind this argument is that homosexuality may in some cases be nature's way of population control.
First I mentioned that we humans are in dire straights when we start to use the criteria of other animals to judge our own behaviors. Some insects eat their mates after sex. Some eat their children too. Does that make it okay for us to do these things? Does it really imply that homosexual behavior in humans is just a part of nature if other animals do it? Or could it possibly imply that animals simply have no moral conscience? No real sense of right and wrong? I once saw a cat play with a snake and basically torture it to death. I'm no fan of snakes, but the cat never ate the snake. What purpose did it serve to torture it to death like that? Once again, could it be that other animals have no conscience and have no qualms about doing anything irrational that comes into their feeble minds?
The entire conversation with this man felt very strange. It was almost like I was conversing with an animal rather than a human. His arguments made no rational sense at all. They were the types of arguments I would have expected from someone below the age of ten. But the man wasn't stupid. He was irrational. There's a difference. I couldn't help but think that this is what a lifetime of willful sin will do to an intellect. There's no sanity away from God. There's only confusion, selfishness, and inner strife.
By the way, I recently had a chance to look up that study on controlled rat populations. It had the following to say:
"Males became aggressive, some moving in groups, attacking females and the young. Mating behaviors were disrupted. Some males became exclusively homosexual. Others became pansexual and hypersexual, attempting to mount any rat they encountered. Mothers neglected their infants, first failing to construct proper nests, and then carelessly abandoning and even attacking their pups. ... The crowded rodents had lost the ability to co-exist harmoniously, even after the population numbers once again fell to low levels. At a certain density, they had ceased to act like rats and mice, and the change was permanent."
It almost sounds as though homosexual behavior and mental devolution go hand in hand. The whole point in his bringing up the rat studies was to offer evidence that physical environments cause homosexual behaviors in some rats, and thus, that their behavior is not their own fault--the implication being that humans can't help their own behavior either. It's basically a determinist view of the world. That to me is absurd.
That humans may find themselves in situations that tempt bad behavior is a given. It's not even interesting. What's interesting is the way some people fight that same temptation and don't allow it to control them. It's our ability to go against these outside influences (or at least give it our best try) and remain in control of our natures that makes humans interesting compared to all other creatures on earth. The very fact that some of us remain loyal to a higher standard (what the ancients called first precepts, the Tao, or the laws of nature) in the face of adversity is truly astounding and goes against all science since science by its nature is deterministic. Call me crazy, but that a rat chooses to make poor choices doesn't matter to me.
So, as I was saying... I'll be the first to admit I don't understand homosexuality anymore than I appreciate it. And quite honestly, I don't think I'm supposed to understand it. Sin is an aberration. Beyond that, the actual mechanisms of sin are something completely beyond human understanding. Only God can properly understand sin and properly hate it. That almost magical framework which supports sin and infuses our world with it is unknown to mortals. Negative thoughts, suggestions, appetites and habits are constantly poured into the cup of each soul. The bible tells us from whom they flow. It does not tell us how. At its most diminutive, sin preys upon the weakness of our flesh. These are appropriately referred to as sins of weakness. Sin begins to show its real strength, however, when it is premeditated. It then gathers even more steam and becomes the custom of small groups. And at its deadliest it takes on the function of a worldwide tradition just as human sacrifice once was.
If there's one characteristic of sin that stands out it must be that of senselessness. Not that all sins appear senseless at all times. For instance, to a lazy man, it must seem quite sensible to steal. But there's usually a root to sin that has no sense in it. In this case it is the laziness itself. Laziness provides no real function in life. Laziness enhances the life of no man, and lazy men do nothing to enhance society. It's not just that no good thing comes from it that should astound us though. It's that any man should ever think to be lazy in the first place. How did he ever conceive of such a way of life? Did the world's first lazy man actually conceive anything at all of laziness? Or did he merely act on impulse? Impulse! Ah, where did that impulse come from? How? And why? I also must say that the closer you look at the psychology professional's view on the impulse to sin, the more you come to realize his view is all smoke and mirrors. It's no secret that I have always had a very low opinion of psychology. There are simply no answers there--only men who put on the pretense of one who knows.
The only thing about homosexual acts that can in any way be construed as desirous is that of the physical pleasure some claim to derive from it. But physical pleasures cannot be thought of as positive or negative. They are simply physical states such as hot or cold. They are neither good nor evil. Physical discomforts are also neither good nor evil. They may not be desirous, but they are just a state of existence.
I would also quickly admit that I've heard locker-room talk where guys mentioned things their wives or girlfriends did with them sexually that seemed quite pleasurable to them, but which sounded just as strange to me as any homosexual act and sometimes just as sickening. Frankly, anything involving the word "anus" is disturbing, and to me, comes under the heading of mentally imbalanced. Is this a way of getting back at their parents for not allowing them to play in the city sewer system as kids? That might be the best answer a psychologist could come up with. But isn't it obvious that there's something very wrong, something very insensible going on?
Of course it hardly stops there. One of the more oddball intimate behaviors people sometimes engage in was immortalized by ZZ Top in the song "Pearl Necklace". Need I say more? My question is, what's the point? Physical pleasure? But couldn't performing the sex act in the normal way bring the exact same pleasure? What compels people to do the very strange?
These are the kinds of weird explorations I would expect of six year old kids if six year old kids could have sex. But is there anything about these acts that conjure up images of well-balanced adults?
Now I'm not letting myself off the hook here. For several years I had a thing for married women. I never once acted on the impulse, but still, the compulsion was there, and for the life of me, I don't know why. It made no sense whatsoever. The last thing I was looking for was a wife myself, so it wasn't like I was hoping any of these women were going to leave their husbands for me. That was the last thing on my mind. It was simply a kind of appetite, and maybe that's the word we should be focusing on.
An appetite in this case can best be described as a wild craving. For some it can even become insatiable over time. Life is about making choices. But where do those choices come from? I'm especially thinking of choices involving cravings that appear from within. Sexual appetite is often thought of as merely a physical and biological desire (or bio-physical if you like), but I see much more at work here because so often those cravings have little or nothing to do with the flesh. Normal humans have a physical craving for sex. But strange sexual aberrations begin from within and will manifest themselves even when the physical body is craving nothing at all. Our mind tells us it wants to have sex, and it wants to have it in an abnormal way, even though our bodies are telling us no such thing. I truly believe this is how many people get involved with weird sexual behaviors. They'll so often claim, "This is the only way I can do it", when the truth of the matter is that they could perform the act in the normal manner if they waited until their physical bodies were actually craving sex rather than just their minds. It's rather like a man saying he doesn't like water and can only drink a particular kind of imported wine when in truth he would gladly drink water if he were very, very thirsty.
I've mentioned before of how I once knew a married couple, both of whom were afraid of being in high places, not because they were afraid of heights, but because both of them felt the same insensible compulsion to jump.
These insensible impulses we feel in life have a way of bringing about self-hatred. It begins with a sort of disgust we have toward ourselves for even being tempted to act irrationally in the first place (perhaps because we allowed the impulse in) and ends with an all out self-hate when we fall completely out of control. I've always felt homosexuality was somehow a form of self-hatred. It's only recently that I've come to this understanding of why.
The things of God, however, are usually pretty straight forward. This in fact is one of the things that draws us most to him. We're bombarded with irrational impulses day after day, and if we give in to them, we know that irrationality is only a step away from insanity. But there is sanity in God. I often think this is what's being referred to by that "peace that surpasses understanding". It is simply sanity. A devotion to God is a devotion to all that is rational. It makes sense of the world and gives clarity to the mind.
If you ever try to talk rationally with a homosexual you will immediately find his world is full of irrationalities. I recently found myself having just such a discussion with one. The first thing he did was to say that I hated homosexuals. I of course said no such thing. He had instantaneously drawn the conclusion that if I thought homosexuality was wrong that I must hate anyone who does it. When I informed him that it was only the act that was the object of my scorn, he quickly replied, "The old hate the sin, love the sinner nonsense, eh? That's just a copout. Nobody buys that."
He then went on to say that since I had never tried homosexuality that I couldn't make an informed decision about it. I replied that I had also never tried murder, torture, rape, incest, biting off an ear, or poking out someone's eye with a stick either, but that all rational people realize such things are wrong.
Next he trotted out the old standby of how I was being "intolerant" and that he was promoting "openness and acceptance." I replied that he was being "permissive" that he was promoting openness and acceptance to something that most of the world considers to be a vice.
I also pointed out to him that, without fail, every single homosexual person I had ever encountered had been extremely self-centered and incredibly childish. Well of course he was just aghast at such a comment, but I was simply telling the truth. The fact is that every homosexual man I've ever met, or ever saw on TV, acted much more like a child than a woman. Richard Simmons is probably a pretty good example. I asked him how I could think of homosexual men as being "normal" well-balanced adults when they acted like children?
His only answer was that I must be bigoted. I said that I certainly was not but was only relating my impressions. I said that I had never known a homosexual that I felt comfortable being around but that I didn't see that as bigotry. There are in fact all kinds of people we don't like being around such as those who are childish, selfish, foolish, loud, obnoxious, rude etc. If I don't like being around a fool, does that make me a fool-bigot? Isn't it just common sense not wanting to be around a fool?
His last argument was perhaps the least sound of all and one I've heard many times before, and that was the fact that there are some animals that engage in homosexual acts. This in his mind made it all right for humans too. Actually, he went on to mention some studies done on rats which showed that they became more prone toward homosexual behaviors when their populations were increased within the same small area. The idea behind this argument is that homosexuality may in some cases be nature's way of population control.
First I mentioned that we humans are in dire straights when we start to use the criteria of other animals to judge our own behaviors. Some insects eat their mates after sex. Some eat their children too. Does that make it okay for us to do these things? Does it really imply that homosexual behavior in humans is just a part of nature if other animals do it? Or could it possibly imply that animals simply have no moral conscience? No real sense of right and wrong? I once saw a cat play with a snake and basically torture it to death. I'm no fan of snakes, but the cat never ate the snake. What purpose did it serve to torture it to death like that? Once again, could it be that other animals have no conscience and have no qualms about doing anything irrational that comes into their feeble minds?
The entire conversation with this man felt very strange. It was almost like I was conversing with an animal rather than a human. His arguments made no rational sense at all. They were the types of arguments I would have expected from someone below the age of ten. But the man wasn't stupid. He was irrational. There's a difference. I couldn't help but think that this is what a lifetime of willful sin will do to an intellect. There's no sanity away from God. There's only confusion, selfishness, and inner strife.
By the way, I recently had a chance to look up that study on controlled rat populations. It had the following to say:
"Males became aggressive, some moving in groups, attacking females and the young. Mating behaviors were disrupted. Some males became exclusively homosexual. Others became pansexual and hypersexual, attempting to mount any rat they encountered. Mothers neglected their infants, first failing to construct proper nests, and then carelessly abandoning and even attacking their pups. ... The crowded rodents had lost the ability to co-exist harmoniously, even after the population numbers once again fell to low levels. At a certain density, they had ceased to act like rats and mice, and the change was permanent."
It almost sounds as though homosexual behavior and mental devolution go hand in hand. The whole point in his bringing up the rat studies was to offer evidence that physical environments cause homosexual behaviors in some rats, and thus, that their behavior is not their own fault--the implication being that humans can't help their own behavior either. It's basically a determinist view of the world. That to me is absurd.
That humans may find themselves in situations that tempt bad behavior is a given. It's not even interesting. What's interesting is the way some people fight that same temptation and don't allow it to control them. It's our ability to go against these outside influences (or at least give it our best try) and remain in control of our natures that makes humans interesting compared to all other creatures on earth. The very fact that some of us remain loyal to a higher standard (what the ancients called first precepts, the Tao, or the laws of nature) in the face of adversity is truly astounding and goes against all science since science by its nature is deterministic. Call me crazy, but that a rat chooses to make poor choices doesn't matter to me.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
The End of a Perfect Tale
I just watched the final episode of Lost. I wasn't at all prepared for it. I went into it wanting to have all my questions answered about the ancient mythology and science. Well I didn't get what I wanted. Instead I got what I needed. I've always felt (especially lately though) that feeling Jack had going through his death throes--that I live a sort of false life behind a false face. I see glimpses of the real world now and then, sometimes quite vivid, but it always exceeds my grasp. Maybe that's what Heaven is--a person, a thing, or a place that's more familiar than anything on earth, but a thing that's always just a bit out of reach. Some people are scared of it because they've allowed themselves to become too accustomed to this sham reality we live in.
This is the secret thread that runs through the works of CS Lewis, Charles Williams, GK Chesterton, and George MacDonald. They glimpsed the real world and had no fear of it--only a great longing to be there.
I pity those people who are afraid of death. They think it will be full of the unfamiliar and will take some getting used to. The opposite is the truth of things. It will be like opening the door to your home after having been on a long journey through an alien land.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Last Night I Had The Strangest Dream
Putting aside any allusions you are now having toward all things Mason Proffit, let me tell you about it.
I dreamed I was in a house with CS Lewis, a woman I know named Ann from an online Charles Williams group, and a man who seemed to be something like a butler. It was a very simple dream and was the last thing I remember upon awakening this morning.
I don't know where this house was. I don't recall seeing Jack (I can call him that since we're old drinking buddies), but I think he was inside the house while I was in the front yard. The home was old and brick--the front yard a bit small and sparse of vegetation except for the grass. The yard was fenced in by an iron fence like the ones they made in the old days. Iron in fact played a big role in this dream. On the other side of the fence everything you saw was rather rundown. Not terrible, but certainly the other properties had been let go for a number of years. There was also a shop where a man (who I didn't see) made things from iron. He had made an outside chair for Jack and an odd piece of "poetry" for Charles Williams. Both objects now sat in Lewis' front yard. The butler had just brought them out, and I was afraid they would get stolen.
There's no point in trying to describe the chair, it having no distinguishing characteristics from other iron chairs except to say it had a lot of open spaces instead of tons of bars going around it like some chairs do. The more intriguing object was this piece made for Williams. I don't know if Williams was still alive or not, but I believe the object was made to his specifications. Ann came out of the house and looked it up and down for a while before declaring that the "poetry was too dense" to figure out. The odd thing was that the object seemed to be nothing but a hurdle bar--the kind people jump over when running hurdles. It was different from other hurdle bars I had seen in that it was made from iron and had no wood on it. It was completely iron, and instead of having a flat wood piece on the top that you were to jump over, it had an iron bar that was shaped like a half moon with the curved side facing up making it more difficult to clear.
The butler moved one of the pieces (I can't remember which now, but I think it was the chair) over against the fence. This really worried me, because I could see how easy it was to steal from there. Sure enough a boy grabbed it and ran off with it in just a few minutes. I was chasing him when I woke up.
Whatever could it mean?
I dreamed I was in a house with CS Lewis, a woman I know named Ann from an online Charles Williams group, and a man who seemed to be something like a butler. It was a very simple dream and was the last thing I remember upon awakening this morning.
I don't know where this house was. I don't recall seeing Jack (I can call him that since we're old drinking buddies), but I think he was inside the house while I was in the front yard. The home was old and brick--the front yard a bit small and sparse of vegetation except for the grass. The yard was fenced in by an iron fence like the ones they made in the old days. Iron in fact played a big role in this dream. On the other side of the fence everything you saw was rather rundown. Not terrible, but certainly the other properties had been let go for a number of years. There was also a shop where a man (who I didn't see) made things from iron. He had made an outside chair for Jack and an odd piece of "poetry" for Charles Williams. Both objects now sat in Lewis' front yard. The butler had just brought them out, and I was afraid they would get stolen.
There's no point in trying to describe the chair, it having no distinguishing characteristics from other iron chairs except to say it had a lot of open spaces instead of tons of bars going around it like some chairs do. The more intriguing object was this piece made for Williams. I don't know if Williams was still alive or not, but I believe the object was made to his specifications. Ann came out of the house and looked it up and down for a while before declaring that the "poetry was too dense" to figure out. The odd thing was that the object seemed to be nothing but a hurdle bar--the kind people jump over when running hurdles. It was different from other hurdle bars I had seen in that it was made from iron and had no wood on it. It was completely iron, and instead of having a flat wood piece on the top that you were to jump over, it had an iron bar that was shaped like a half moon with the curved side facing up making it more difficult to clear.
The butler moved one of the pieces (I can't remember which now, but I think it was the chair) over against the fence. This really worried me, because I could see how easy it was to steal from there. Sure enough a boy grabbed it and ran off with it in just a few minutes. I was chasing him when I woke up.
Whatever could it mean?
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
The Beginning of Wisdom
The summer of 1968 would have probably been a bland summer. There was a nine year old boy named Billy who lived on Michigan Avenue in East St Louis, the oldest of five (or was it six?) siblings, all of them mentally disabled to a degree except for the oldest daughter whom nobody liked. They were close in age to myself, but I wasn't allowed to play with them, and only watched them from afar.
They weren't so different from other boys and girls really with the same predilection for games and laughter as any other children. They always said their father worked for the state, but mom explained to me one day that this meant he was on public aid, and they required people to work for the state in some small capacity to get the money. There were no totally free rides in those days. East St Louis used to be a big railroad town where people could always find work, but over-the-road trucking brought an end to all that, and times were getting hard. Most folks lived in houses they had built themselves with whatever used wood they could find and wrapped their homes in cheap, but very flammable, shingle siding that always made for a quick fire, and there were plenty of those during the race riots.
Billy was appointed king of his clan. He was to keep an eye on all his brothers and sisters to keep them safe, and this he did with great pride. Mostly he was just a good boy. I don't remember Billy ever telling a lie, and when you're nine years old, telling lies is your measuring stick where goodness is concerned. But while he had his siblings to play with, they were too young to be much fun for him. There was no one to catch him when playing tag, no one to beat him at shooting targets with slingshots, no one to catch his fastball without dropping it. Yes, it would have been a bland summer.
One day to Billy's great delight, a new family moved in a few houses down on the other side of the street, and they too had a nine year old boy named Billy. And even though the new Billy was above average in the brains department they became quick friends. People found it difficult to call them by name though since they had the same moniker, so it was decided that the former Billy who had been there the longest would be called Willy.
Life during hard times doesn't seem hard at all when you have a friend to go through them with. The two Billys did everything together. Willy wasn't normally supposed to go far from home, but as long as he was with Billy his mother didn't care. He also didn't have a bike, but Billy would gladly cart Willy on the handlebars all over town. East St Louis is an odd town, shaped like a football field, several miles long, but only a mile or two wide, and there wasn't much of any part of it they hadn't traveled. Still, they found the most pleasure close to home playing on the canal behind Billy's house where they shot off bottle rockets, tossed cats in the quick moving water, or captured cottonmouths in jars only to torture the "evil varmints" to death later as nine year old boys are want to do. There was also a boy over on Minnesota Ave who had an actual car! It was a tiny French car that sat two people and looked like a glorified go-cart. It had no motor and was very light, so the two Billys and the other neighborhood kids took turns pushing each other down the hill in it. The summer of 68 was turning out not to be so bland after all.
Willy had blond hair and very fair skin with the bluest eyes I ever saw. He had posture that was so good you would have thought he was brought up in a military school, but that's just the way he was. One day after some testing at his "special" school, it was decided that he would be able to go to regular school, although he would always be in remedial classes. I remember him that first morning walking to the bus stop by himself for the first time to go to a normal school. He looked so proud.
Billy was a dark haired boy and a little husky. His grandfather had once been a minister in this town, and his home was full of religious pictures and statues. There was even a painting of Jesus surrounded by children that hung in his bedroom. Billy though, like most kids, never thought too much about religion. His parents sent him to a school in another all-white town where he had gone before they moved to East St Louis. He wanted to go to school with Willy, but there was no talking his mother out of it. She wanted her boy to have a good education and was afraid of the riots, and in truth, was probably not wrong to feel that way. There were lots of killings in those days by blacks and whites both. There were also the old-time gangsters who still ran the town behind the scenes, and you sure wanted to stay clear of them. That lady was just about the most scared women I ever did see. But she had no fear of other women, and once I saw her threaten to knock the teeth right out of some neighbor lady's face during a dispute about a parking space. I realized then that women fight over the silliest things only to make up again before supper. That's why we don’t let them run the Army.
One day Billy's cousin, Brenda, went to see Gypsy about her warts. Gypsy was an old woman who lived on Minnesota next door to those Wells boys who had the little car. I never knew what her real name was, but she knew some old remedies to heal people of various ailments, and so we always just called her Gypsy. She wrapped Brenda's finger in some gauze, said a few words, and then rubbed the finger this way and that. When she pulled the gauze away, the warts fell to the ground. She was an amazing woman that Gypsy.
Another time, Willy had lost his dad's car keys. He used them to unlock the shed and somehow managed to misplace them and was afraid he'd get whooped when his dad got home. Billy had heard of an old woman downtown though who could find lost things if you gave her a little money. So off they went on Billy's bike.
They had to ask several people before they found someone who could tell them where she lived. It was a very rundown house not far from the bridge traffic. She sat outside on the porch in a rocker fanning herself in the summer heat. The boys thought she looked a bit crazy, but they got their courage up and walked to the steps. "Warm night isn't it boys?" she said.
"Yes ma'am," both Billys replied in unison. "Are you the lady that helps people find lost things?" said Willy.
"Well, I help folks when I can. And did you lose something?"
"He lost his dad's car keys," said Billy. "Can you help us find them? We have some money." They used to hunt down soda bottles and turn them in for the deposits. Together they had nearly two dollars worth.
"Well let me see what ya'all got there honey," she said as he placed the money in her hand. She smiled and gave the money back. "You keep this. You might need it one day." Then she laid her head back and seemed to go to sleep.
The boys weren't sure what to do now. They were too polite to wake the old woman. Finally they were starting to walk away when she bolted upright and said, "You'll find those keys in the creek behind the shed."
The boys looked startled at one another.
"You better head on back home now. It'll be dark soon, and it ain't safe here after dark," she told them.
They both thanked her and headed back home on the bike. By the time they got there it was already dark, and their mothers were beginning to get worried. Billy said a quick greeting to his folks and then ran out again with his small penlight in his pocket saying he'd be right back. Willy's dad said nothing about the keys. It was a Sunday, and Willy hoped his parents hadn't tried to go anywhere. People weren't on the go all the time in those days like they are now.
The two Billys searched the creek behind the shed, which thankfully, was dried up in the summer heat. Willy let out a gasp, "There they are!" he exclaimed. Sure enough, there were the car keys just as the old woman had said. He went to put them in his pocket and found a gaping hole there. He carried them into the house instead and laid them on his mom and dad's dresser without anyone noticing.
Both boys were quite exhausted and slept well that night. Before drifting off to sleep, Willy thought about going to college one day even though he knew the odds were against him. Billy, on the other hand, for the first time took a serious glance at the painting on his wall, thought of how much fun it was to be a boy in East St Louis during the summer of 1968, and wished he never had to grow-up. And he never did.
They weren't so different from other boys and girls really with the same predilection for games and laughter as any other children. They always said their father worked for the state, but mom explained to me one day that this meant he was on public aid, and they required people to work for the state in some small capacity to get the money. There were no totally free rides in those days. East St Louis used to be a big railroad town where people could always find work, but over-the-road trucking brought an end to all that, and times were getting hard. Most folks lived in houses they had built themselves with whatever used wood they could find and wrapped their homes in cheap, but very flammable, shingle siding that always made for a quick fire, and there were plenty of those during the race riots.
Billy was appointed king of his clan. He was to keep an eye on all his brothers and sisters to keep them safe, and this he did with great pride. Mostly he was just a good boy. I don't remember Billy ever telling a lie, and when you're nine years old, telling lies is your measuring stick where goodness is concerned. But while he had his siblings to play with, they were too young to be much fun for him. There was no one to catch him when playing tag, no one to beat him at shooting targets with slingshots, no one to catch his fastball without dropping it. Yes, it would have been a bland summer.
One day to Billy's great delight, a new family moved in a few houses down on the other side of the street, and they too had a nine year old boy named Billy. And even though the new Billy was above average in the brains department they became quick friends. People found it difficult to call them by name though since they had the same moniker, so it was decided that the former Billy who had been there the longest would be called Willy.
Life during hard times doesn't seem hard at all when you have a friend to go through them with. The two Billys did everything together. Willy wasn't normally supposed to go far from home, but as long as he was with Billy his mother didn't care. He also didn't have a bike, but Billy would gladly cart Willy on the handlebars all over town. East St Louis is an odd town, shaped like a football field, several miles long, but only a mile or two wide, and there wasn't much of any part of it they hadn't traveled. Still, they found the most pleasure close to home playing on the canal behind Billy's house where they shot off bottle rockets, tossed cats in the quick moving water, or captured cottonmouths in jars only to torture the "evil varmints" to death later as nine year old boys are want to do. There was also a boy over on Minnesota Ave who had an actual car! It was a tiny French car that sat two people and looked like a glorified go-cart. It had no motor and was very light, so the two Billys and the other neighborhood kids took turns pushing each other down the hill in it. The summer of 68 was turning out not to be so bland after all.
Willy had blond hair and very fair skin with the bluest eyes I ever saw. He had posture that was so good you would have thought he was brought up in a military school, but that's just the way he was. One day after some testing at his "special" school, it was decided that he would be able to go to regular school, although he would always be in remedial classes. I remember him that first morning walking to the bus stop by himself for the first time to go to a normal school. He looked so proud.
Billy was a dark haired boy and a little husky. His grandfather had once been a minister in this town, and his home was full of religious pictures and statues. There was even a painting of Jesus surrounded by children that hung in his bedroom. Billy though, like most kids, never thought too much about religion. His parents sent him to a school in another all-white town where he had gone before they moved to East St Louis. He wanted to go to school with Willy, but there was no talking his mother out of it. She wanted her boy to have a good education and was afraid of the riots, and in truth, was probably not wrong to feel that way. There were lots of killings in those days by blacks and whites both. There were also the old-time gangsters who still ran the town behind the scenes, and you sure wanted to stay clear of them. That lady was just about the most scared women I ever did see. But she had no fear of other women, and once I saw her threaten to knock the teeth right out of some neighbor lady's face during a dispute about a parking space. I realized then that women fight over the silliest things only to make up again before supper. That's why we don’t let them run the Army.
One day Billy's cousin, Brenda, went to see Gypsy about her warts. Gypsy was an old woman who lived on Minnesota next door to those Wells boys who had the little car. I never knew what her real name was, but she knew some old remedies to heal people of various ailments, and so we always just called her Gypsy. She wrapped Brenda's finger in some gauze, said a few words, and then rubbed the finger this way and that. When she pulled the gauze away, the warts fell to the ground. She was an amazing woman that Gypsy.
Another time, Willy had lost his dad's car keys. He used them to unlock the shed and somehow managed to misplace them and was afraid he'd get whooped when his dad got home. Billy had heard of an old woman downtown though who could find lost things if you gave her a little money. So off they went on Billy's bike.
They had to ask several people before they found someone who could tell them where she lived. It was a very rundown house not far from the bridge traffic. She sat outside on the porch in a rocker fanning herself in the summer heat. The boys thought she looked a bit crazy, but they got their courage up and walked to the steps. "Warm night isn't it boys?" she said.
"Yes ma'am," both Billys replied in unison. "Are you the lady that helps people find lost things?" said Willy.
"Well, I help folks when I can. And did you lose something?"
"He lost his dad's car keys," said Billy. "Can you help us find them? We have some money." They used to hunt down soda bottles and turn them in for the deposits. Together they had nearly two dollars worth.
"Well let me see what ya'all got there honey," she said as he placed the money in her hand. She smiled and gave the money back. "You keep this. You might need it one day." Then she laid her head back and seemed to go to sleep.
The boys weren't sure what to do now. They were too polite to wake the old woman. Finally they were starting to walk away when she bolted upright and said, "You'll find those keys in the creek behind the shed."
The boys looked startled at one another.
"You better head on back home now. It'll be dark soon, and it ain't safe here after dark," she told them.
They both thanked her and headed back home on the bike. By the time they got there it was already dark, and their mothers were beginning to get worried. Billy said a quick greeting to his folks and then ran out again with his small penlight in his pocket saying he'd be right back. Willy's dad said nothing about the keys. It was a Sunday, and Willy hoped his parents hadn't tried to go anywhere. People weren't on the go all the time in those days like they are now.
The two Billys searched the creek behind the shed, which thankfully, was dried up in the summer heat. Willy let out a gasp, "There they are!" he exclaimed. Sure enough, there were the car keys just as the old woman had said. He went to put them in his pocket and found a gaping hole there. He carried them into the house instead and laid them on his mom and dad's dresser without anyone noticing.
Both boys were quite exhausted and slept well that night. Before drifting off to sleep, Willy thought about going to college one day even though he knew the odds were against him. Billy, on the other hand, for the first time took a serious glance at the painting on his wall, thought of how much fun it was to be a boy in East St Louis during the summer of 1968, and wished he never had to grow-up. And he never did.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Fundie Dumpty Sat on a Wall
I've watched fundamentalism turn otherwise normal functioning humans into hate filled mechanisms of destruction all my life. There are also a ton of equally crazed crackpots out there who believe with all their hearts that churches, particularly the Catholic Church, are about nothing but mind control and money. That the gods were an invention to kowtow the people, and religions--just a scheme to collect money from them in the process.
But then we have the atheists who seem to grasp both groups and their problems really well... at first. But a well oiled human will quickly see that the atheists have also committed brain felo-de-se on the way to the rally.
The thing none of our cerebrally unhinged groups can seem to comprehend is where the truth lies or how to get there. In all three cases it's literally like trying to communicate with a brick. Or a... well, a really dumb cat. If they were taking drugs I could take their drugs away. If they were the victims of brain frequency altering sound waves or optical sensory manipulation to achieve a hypnotic effect, I could close their eyes and stop up their ears or shut the machines down. But how do you wake people from a hypnotic trance which has been self induced and habitually maintained? After Pavlov's dog has already been drooling for a couple of decades, or since birth, can you ever stop him from doing so with each and every bell that rings?
This is why I can't agree with the Universalists. There are just a small handful of people walking the Earth who haven't flown into intellectual flypaper. Can a man be taught truth when his mind has been locked away, and only he holds the key?
I am reminded of CS Lewis' story about a bus ride through purgatory where those who were the farthest from Heaven were also the ones whose minds had been closed around both selfishness and self deception. Where Hitler for instance, and those like him, could be found far away on a distant star because their selfish nature kept pushing them further and further away from other humans and from the Creator of life. Fundamentalists, conspiracy theorists, and atheists are also wrapped up in a closed cocoon of thought where nothing can penetrate their trance. They all see a completely different version of the great dance of life, all with different figures stepping to different tunes, each of them out of key because they've fired the conductor.
I suspect all of mankind has wrestled with these same parasites of mind manipulation. What is it that keeps some from falling prey to them? It has nothing whatsoever to do with intelligence; some of the finest minds, the most erudite thinkers, come under the spell of the perverted dance, and yet, some of the feeblest of intellects seem able to avoid the pitfalls as the fly evades the horse's tail. One thing is for sure; if the mind is to be able, it must first be free.
A good Christian must always be as skeptical of his bible as he is fond of it.
A good conspiracy theorist must be willing to test both sides of his theory with equal and complete impartiality.
A good atheist must be skeptical even of his own skepticism. (In other words, the only good atheist is an agnostic).
All honest men are capable of pleasing a God who is truth itself. But where is the honest man?
But then we have the atheists who seem to grasp both groups and their problems really well... at first. But a well oiled human will quickly see that the atheists have also committed brain felo-de-se on the way to the rally.
The thing none of our cerebrally unhinged groups can seem to comprehend is where the truth lies or how to get there. In all three cases it's literally like trying to communicate with a brick. Or a... well, a really dumb cat. If they were taking drugs I could take their drugs away. If they were the victims of brain frequency altering sound waves or optical sensory manipulation to achieve a hypnotic effect, I could close their eyes and stop up their ears or shut the machines down. But how do you wake people from a hypnotic trance which has been self induced and habitually maintained? After Pavlov's dog has already been drooling for a couple of decades, or since birth, can you ever stop him from doing so with each and every bell that rings?
This is why I can't agree with the Universalists. There are just a small handful of people walking the Earth who haven't flown into intellectual flypaper. Can a man be taught truth when his mind has been locked away, and only he holds the key?
I am reminded of CS Lewis' story about a bus ride through purgatory where those who were the farthest from Heaven were also the ones whose minds had been closed around both selfishness and self deception. Where Hitler for instance, and those like him, could be found far away on a distant star because their selfish nature kept pushing them further and further away from other humans and from the Creator of life. Fundamentalists, conspiracy theorists, and atheists are also wrapped up in a closed cocoon of thought where nothing can penetrate their trance. They all see a completely different version of the great dance of life, all with different figures stepping to different tunes, each of them out of key because they've fired the conductor.
I suspect all of mankind has wrestled with these same parasites of mind manipulation. What is it that keeps some from falling prey to them? It has nothing whatsoever to do with intelligence; some of the finest minds, the most erudite thinkers, come under the spell of the perverted dance, and yet, some of the feeblest of intellects seem able to avoid the pitfalls as the fly evades the horse's tail. One thing is for sure; if the mind is to be able, it must first be free.
A good Christian must always be as skeptical of his bible as he is fond of it.
A good conspiracy theorist must be willing to test both sides of his theory with equal and complete impartiality.
A good atheist must be skeptical even of his own skepticism. (In other words, the only good atheist is an agnostic).
All honest men are capable of pleasing a God who is truth itself. But where is the honest man?
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