There's Glory for You

Archbigot Brian Fischer is sounding off again on subjects of which he knows nothing, and Monday’s sermonette appears to be on a text from Humpty-Dumpty—“When I use a word it means what I choose it to mean—neither more nor less.” Apparently he has his own meaning for the word “religion”, one derived from the most ignorant kids on the playground when he was growing up, and he thinks that the Founders must have shared it:

When the Founders used the word “religion,” they used it much as we did on the playground when I was growing up in America a generation ago. We’d asked each other, “What religion are you?” By the term “religion” we meant some variety or brand of the Christian religion, since that was all that was represented among us. We were Baptists, or Lutherans, or Methodists, or Presbyterians, or Catholics, etc. The question essentially had to do with what brand of Christianity you wore. Such was the case at the time of the Founding.

Now this is quaint, almost charming in a smarmy sort of way. Because schoolkids where he lived didn’t know anything about religions other than Christianity, neither did the Founders. There’s logic for you, as Humpty-Dumpty might have observed. Now as Brian Fischer and I seem to be about the same age, maybe my experience growing up could serve as a contrast. Even when I was in grade school nobody would have been so ignorant as to suppose that “religion” was restricted to “some variety or brand of the Christian religion”; we had Jews and Buddhists and unbelievers amongst us, as well as Jehovah’s Witnesses and Mormons and other exotica. To imagine that men like Charles Thomson (who translated the Septuagint), Thomas Jefferson (who studied the Koran), or John Adams were as uninformed as Brian Fischer’s retarded (and probably imaginary) schoolfellows is something of a stretch.

And why does Brian Fischer make this outlandish claim? It’s part of an argument that

the First Amendment was written neither to guarantee freedom of religion to Muslims or Buddhists or Hindus nor to prohibit their free exercise of religion. It wasn’t written about them one way or another.

It was written for one specific purpose: to protect the free exercise of the Christian religion.

And what is his evidence that the Founders mistakenly wrote “religion” when they meant “Christianity”? It’s a weird out-of-context quotation from Justice Joseph Story to the effect that the First Amendment did not intend to place some other religion in Christianity’s place, but only “to cut off the means of religious persecution, (the vice and pest of former ages,) and the power of subverting the rights of conscience in matters of religion, which had been trampled upon almost from the days of the Apostles to the present age.” Joseph Story went on to observe that as far as the Federal government was concerned, “the Catholic and the Protestant, the Calvinist and the Arminian, the Jew and the Infidel, may sit down at the common table of the national councils, without any inquisition into their faith, or mode of worship.” Note the presence of the Jew and the Infidel at that common table—there is no suggestion here that “religion” in the Constitution was restricted to Christianity.

This Founders as boobs scenario really doesn’t hold water. The idea that they mistakenly wrote “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof” when they meant “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of the Christian religion,” etc assumes that they weren’t capable of expressing the concept in words intelligible to later times. But it is in fact quite clear that they could have given some form of theism a special place in the Constitution—if they’d wanted to. Founder William Williams, for example, wanted the preamble to read,

We the people of the United States, in a firm belief of the being and perfections of the one living and true God, the creator and supreme Governour of the world, in his universal providence and the authority of his laws; that he will require of all moral agents an account of their conduct; that all rightful powers among men are ordained of, and mediately derived from God; therefore in a dependence on his blessing and acknowledgment of his efficient protection in establishing our Independence, whereby it is become necessary to agree upon and settle a Constitution of federal government for ourselves, and in order to form a more perfect union…

This notion did not gain favor. Actually, even for suggesting this William Williams had to clear his name from the accusation of having proposed a religious test for the Constitution. Oliver Ellsworth, who had criticized him on that front, accepted his explanation—after a fashion:

It had been represented in several parts of the state, to the great surprise of your friends, that you wished some religious test as an introduction to office, but as you have explained the matter, it is only a religious preamble which you wish—against preambles we have no animosity. Every man hath a sovereign right to use words in his own sense, and when he hath explained himself, it ought to be believed that he uses them conscientiously. … though the honourable gentleman doubtless asserts the truth, there are a great number of those odd people who really think they were present on that occasion, and have such a strong habit of believing their senses, that they will not be convinced even by evidence which is superior to all sense. But it must be so in this imperfect world.

Well, it may well be that every man hath a sovereign right (in the manner of Humpty-Dumpty) to use words in his own sense—but some people carry that sovereign right way past sensible and well into outre. When Humpty-Dumpty put a word to extra labor, he paid it extra. Does Brian Fischer, I wonder.

Quotation of the Day

The people who are attending rallies while crying out that President Obama was not born in the United States, shouting “We want out country back”, even packing loaded weapons while at a Presidential appearance, are not anti-socialist (as they claim); they are antisocial.

Dan J.

An Agnostic is an Atheist too Chicken to Admit It

I used to write fiction (never sold any) and in one story I had a character who, confronted by a Gnostic, said that an agnostic was an atheist who was just too chickenshit to admit to it. I don't know that I've ever heard anybody say it that way in real life, but I've run into the attitude quite a bit. Much depends on how you define the words. Remember when old Polycarp of Smyrna was going to be thrown to the lions or burned at the stake the Romans urged him to denounce the Christians. "Say, 'Away with the atheists,'" the proconsul told him. Polycarp obliged. "Away with the atheists," he repeated, gesturing with his arm to designate the spectators, not the Christians. It's all how you look at it. An atheist, as Mark Twain might have put it, is somebody who doesn't believe in your god.

A good piece over at Evolving Thoughts discusses the meaning of the words atheism and agnosticism, looking at the changes in the meaning of the words over time. John Wilkins has got me thinking again about the oddity of this particular situation: why is it, exactly, again, that I have to pin myself with a specific label on this point? To borrow from Wilkins' piece, it's as though everybody in the world was expected to have a particular team in some sport that they identified with. Well, what about the rest of us? Those of us who just enjoy the game, for instance? And what about the people who just flat-out don't do sports?

There are a lot of things in this universe that I don't have opinions about. Things I've never studied, for instance. Things I don't know enough about. Things where there isn't enough information to even form an opinion in the first place. What influence did Beowulf have on subsequent English literature? Who would win in a fist fight, Santa Claus or Goofy? Is there a god?

I'm sorry; I actually don't have an opinion, and I really never felt the need to form one. I know some people say it's the most important question a person can face—but I just don't see it. People have sicced their deities on me in the past, saying that their god will torment me through all eternity if I don't believe in him, but unless said god can manifest himself in some more tangible way than random bluster, can do something to give me a clue as to why I should be afraid of him and not all these other deities, I can't get worked up over it.

It's like this. Say a stranger comes up to me on the street and tells me "You must believe that Shakespeare based the character of Mercutio on Christopher Marlowe. If you do not you will burn in hell for eternity." Well that would make that a pretty important thing to believe in, wouldn't it? So isn't the safe thing to do to adopt that position, to go around loudly proclaiming that Christopher Marlowe was Shakespeare's model for Mercutio, regardless of whether there was any evidence for it or not, because hey, if you're right, you won't burn in hell for eternity. And if you're wrong, you've only wasted your life making an asshole of yourself. It's just simple logic, isn't it?

This is where I have the problem. This argument can be framed to support anything whatsoever. Unless there's something resembling evidence that my believing or not believing in a thing will actually have an effect on my afterlife there's no wager here at all. It's more like betting on 00 on a roulette wheel with an infinite number of spaces. You might as well try to sell me celestial wax for buffing my aura. It's infantile.

It's so infantile I cannot believe that people seriously make this argument. Their faces must get awfully used to being laughed in. Oh, wait—I hear an objection from the audience. You—Mr. Strawman.

That's Dr. Strawman, if you please.

Okay, Doc, what's on your mind?

Why do you hate God so much?

Where are you getting that from, Dr. Strawman?

Well, you're spending all this time railing against Him, denying His existence.

No, actually I'm not, Dr. Strawman. I have nothing against any god or supernatural critter whatsoever. I mean, when Athena came down to give Perseus a hand killing a gorgon, I thought it was pretty cool. When Yahweh helped the Israelites escape from Egypt, that was great. And when Gandalf the Gray—

Gandalf was a wizard, not a deity.

I know, Dr. Strawman, but you're missing the point. I like Sherlock Holmes, too, but I don't believe in his existence and I sure as hell don't worship him. Oh, sorry about that.

That's quite all right. I'm a Doctor of Divinity.

Come to think of it, I take it back. There are deities I don't much care for. Cthulu, for one. There's a god worth fearing if you like. And I don't like Yahweh all that much when he's out ordering the massacre of the Canaanites or drowning virtually all mankind in a single flood—he's got a petty vengeful side, no doubt about it. And Hera can be a real bitch—

So you admit to hating God.

Maybe. Now you're confusing me. Yeah, I suppose, in the same way I'm not fond of Sauron or that vicious psycho-criminal that shows up in every Dick Francis novel. The first time I saw Othello I could hardly applaud the actor that played Iago, I was so pissed off at that unctuous smiling bastard. (That was Ashland 1966 I think; whoever you were, you did one hell of a job that night.)

But those are fictional characters.

Well, as far as I know so is Yahweh. Or Chemosh, or Ashur, or Dagon.

But that's a bogus argument. Nobody worships Chemosh or Dagon these days.

Is that the test? Popularity? The god the most people worship today is the real god? What about when the entire Roman Empire worshiped Jupiter and the rest, and virtually nobody had even heard of Yahweh? Was Jupiter the big god on the totem pole till Yahweh dethroned him? And what about Allah?

Hey, remember—I'm just a figment of your imagination. I can't answer arguments you haven't already seen addressed somewhere.

Oh, yeah, sorry about that Dr. Strawman. I kind of think this discussion's gone a little off the rails, don't you think?

Maybe. That's not my fault, though. You're the one that keeps trying to compare God with these made-up idols. What about the second commandment?

Uh, which one is that? "Thou shalt not seethe a kid in his mother's milk?"

Oh, that's very funny. You know perfectly well which one, just as you know in your heart that you are not right with God. That's why you rebel against His word, try to deny His existence, try to convince other people that He doesn't exist.

Dr. Strawman, I don't do any of these things. Maybe it makes you feel better to imagine that in my heart of hearts I agree with you, that I really know God exists and am denying it, no, pretending to deny it as an excuse to perform some nameless rituals in my basement. Whatever. Your believing it doesn't make it true. I don't even really think about your god all that much, except in the context of religions of late antiquity, and for all I know maybe you wouldn't even recognize the God that third-century Christians worshiped as yours. I don't know. You can make up stuff about me all you like; the fact is I can make up stuff about you, too. In your heart of hearts, Dr. Strawman, don't you know you're just telling yourself fairy-stories? You don't believe this stuff any more than I do, and you're just trying to convince other people of God's existence just so you don't feel alone.

Ha! I knew you were trying to convert me to atheism!

No, I'm not trying to convert anybody to anything; I'm trying to make a point, and you, as a creature of my imagination, ought to be cooperating with me, not tossing out random non sequiturs to throw me off my rhythm.

I thought that was my job.

No. This is why I try to avoid religious discussions; we always seem to end up talking past each other; we make assumptions about the other's hidden motives and try to address them, and instead of getting anywhere, we end up arguing in circles.

Now we're getting somewhere. Arguing in a circle is the only way a human being can reason in the presence of his Creator.

If I'm willing to accept that you really have some belief in a god—Yahweh or whoever—even though I have a hard time believing that any adult could seriously hold onto a notion like that, are you willing to accept that I really don't have some secret belief in your god that I'm just suppressing for some reason?

Nothing on earth will convince me of that, "Because that which may be known of God is manifest in them; for God hath shewed it unto them. For the invisible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and Godhead; so that they are without excuse: Because that, when they knew God, they glorified him not as God, neither were thankful; but became vain in their imaginations, and their foolish heart was darkened. Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools, And changed the glory of the uncorruptible God into an image made like to corruptible man, and to birds, and fourfooted beasts, and creeping things."

Yeah, well, Paul wrote a lot of stuff.

And as for trying to retreat into agnosticism, the word just means ignorance. But the Bible tells us that there is no excuse for ignorance of God. "The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handywork. Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night sheweth knowledge."

And Second Isaiah says that Yahweh "sits above the circle of the earth and its inhabitants are like grasshoppers to him." And that he "stretches out the heavens like a curtain and spreads them like a tent to live in?" If people look like grasshoppers to him, how high up is he? A couple hundred feet? We've got airplanes that go higher than that. Even skyscrapers are higher. And do you really believe that the sky is made of some curtain-like material? Something Yahweh could spread out?

Now you're being ridiculous. And what was that about "Second Isaiah"? Are you trying to deny that Isaiah correctly prophesied the coming of Cyrus as king of the Persians over a century before it happened?

Huh? How'd Cyrus get into this?

The only reason you atheists came up with this Second Isaiah business is so you can deny God's power of prophecy.

Okay, that's it; I'm finished, Dr. Strawman. You win, there's a god, and I'm off to get some cosmic wax to buff up my aura.

Huh? I mean, uh, hallelujah, I guess. Praise the Lord.

And you know what else, Dr. Strawman? I actually do believe that Marlowe was Shakespeare's model for Mercutio. I know there's no evidence for it, and I have no rational reason for believing it, but I am quite convinced that you in your heart of hearts share my conviction and know perfectly well that it's true. And, Dr. Strawman, if you deny it, you will burn for eternity. So are you with me, Dr. Strawman, or against me? Isn't the answer obvious?

That's the stupidest argument I've ever heard. Do you think I'm an idiot?

Well, thank you for dropping by, Dr. Strawman.

You're quite welcome, I am sure.

Who, Exactly, is Anti-Life?

Some days it doesn't pay to put your fingers on the keyboard and start typing. I've started and trashed at least a dozen openings for this current entry, and I still don't know what the topic is supposed to be. Am I gibbering about obscure Portland-area DJ Wee Willie Nelson? or about slogan-stealing? or what? My resources are inadequate to doing justice to the topics that cross my mind at the moment. I had files of documents relating to the history of Portland radio, and copies of books like Summerhill and Catch-22, that might have been helpful in one or the other, but I don't have them any longer, and it feels like part of my brain is missing. I used to know where to go for stuff; one of my most valuable assets in writing was my file of notes taken over the decades on a variety of topics that interested me at one point or another. And just as my memory is increasingly failing me I lose a big chunk of my external memory storage, so to speak. It is goddamn frustrating.

One thing I had notes on was the use of the term "pro-life". I can't find a goddamn thing on the innertubes about it. I know the term was kicking around before the anti-abortion crowd got their hands on it, but I can't find dates or specifics anywhere. As I remember those of us who were interested in the environmental movement before there was an environmental movement used the term "pro-life" to identify our position as protecting and defending all life everywhere, as being opposed to extinction for any species. (I remember concerns whether the "pro-life" movement should support extinction for organisms that cause smallpox or polio—would this not be anti- rather than pro-life?) And earlier than that I seem to recall some D. H. Lawrence types using the expression to mean a healthy open attitude toward sexuality, or something like that.

As I remember it there was a kind of split between those who preferred the save-the-planet sort of rhetoric (probably borrowed from the anti-nuclear folk) on the one hand, and those who focused on the species-in-danger approach on the other. The one direction leads directly to Earth Day, the latter perhaps to the Endangered Species Act. Speaking only for myself, I never cared for the Earth Day type of language; the planet Earth is in no danger—its sister planet Venus gets on just fine without the thin film of life on its surface Earth boasts of. It's living things that are in peril. Hence the designation pro-life.

I do remember being irritated when I first heard the term "pro-life" used to mean "anti-abortion". I regarded it as theft pure and simple, and not even a good theft; pro-life is utterly inadequate as a slogan for their position. It fits them about as well as a Frederick's of Hollywood evening gown fits the average linebacker. "Pro-life?" Don't make me laugh. And don't for God's sake give me that incredibly lame line about being pro-innocent life—the slogan you anti-abortionists stole says nothing whatsoever about innocence, only about life. If you didn't mean it, why steal it? Yeah, I know, you liked the sound of it—never mind that it made no bloody sense at all.

Now somewhere in the vast wilderness of the interwebs I saw some anti-abortion type claiming that pro-life was an accurate description of the movement because it focused attention on the important thing—that the foetus, no matter how undeveloped, is already a separate human individual entitled to all the rights and privileges that come with that status. Now personally I don't get that meaning from pro-life; something more like pro-foetal-personhood would seem to fit the bill. But really, what was wrong with anti-abortion? It's succinct, and it's accurate. Oh, I suppose from the "pro-life" viewpoint it only covers the conclusion, without giving the grounds for it. It's quite conceivable for someone to oppose abortion without believing that the foetus is a separate human individual entitled to life at all costs. Such a person would be anti-abortion but not pro-foetal-personhood—or something like that. I'm not a believer, and I don't play one on the internet either. I'll leave it to them to explain.

The people opposed to the ban on abortion, on the other hand, had a real problem with the movement label. Pro-abortion is only accurate in the sense that supporters were against its prohibition, not in the sense that they were in favor of abortion itself, or even what opponents like to call "abortion on demand." Many felt there should be strict restrictions on the practice, favoring it only in cases of rape, incest, or if the woman's life was in danger. The uneasy compromise in this case was the weasel term pro-choice, which focused on the issue as they saw it, which is that the choice should exist, but leaves wide open the basic question of who should do the choosing, and under what circumstances. Also, like the term pro-life, pro-choice is way over-broad in its implications. Pro-choice in regard to what? Just one narrow issue—whether a woman chooses to bring her foetus to term. And pro-life in regard to what? Again just one narrow issue—whether a woman should be allowed to terminate her pregnancy.

If you didn't already know what these labels applied to you'd have a hell of a time figuring it out. Pro-choice? Choice in regard to what? What profession to go into, what recreational drugs (if any) to enjoy, what church (if any) to attend? And pro-life? What does life mean here? We could be talking anti-war (as I believe Joseph Heller used the term), anti-pesticide, anti-death penalty, or anti-vivisection. Fuzziness seeps in when sloganeering replaces thought.

I suppose they're no more inane than the labels given to groups in the past. Free-soilers, abolitionists, know-nothings, nullifiers, roundheads, levelers, and other extinct forms of life once walked the world stage, and the people then knew what was being abolished, or leveled, or nullified. It's just some of us can't keep from poking the phrases with pointed sticks.

Surging Towards Redundancy

[A belated contribution to the late and lamented Word.]

Our president--Mr. Stay-the-Course--is talking about a surge in Iraq. The media, the pundits, whatever, have picked up that word and run with it. Surge. What, if anything, do they mean by surge?

It’s a word I’ve had troubles with before. A century or so ago, when I was in grade school, I remember having to use “surge” in a sentence. I recalled the climax of Henry Kuttner's "What You Need"--when the anti-hero, wearing the smooth-soled shoes given him by the proprietor of a mysterious shop, can't keep his footing in a crowd on a slippery platform, and falls in front of a moving train. Remembering the scene I wrote, "There was a surge towards the edge of the platform." My teacher didn't accept that as a legitimate use of the word. I took my case to a higher authority--my mother--but she ruled that while my sentence was perfectly correct, I had not demonstrated in it that I actually understood the use of the word. Our definition had used the word swelling, or something like that, and from my sentence it could have been supposed that I thought that the platform was swollen at one edge.

Webster’s defines surge as a "violent rolling, sweeping, or swelling motion," among other things. My own feeling is that President Stay-the-Course and the media celebrities trailing in his wake have failed to demonstrate, at least as badly as I did, that they know the meaning of the word. What we are talking about is the gradual introduction of twenty thousand, or forty thousand, or whatever the real number is—not that we’ll ever be told—to Baghdad, to assist in trying to establish order there. Not a surge. More like a seep, or an ooze, a trickle, or maybe a creep. The thesaurus comes up with bleed as a possible synonym, grimly appropriate, but not in the sense I had in mind.

Language change is eternal, or at least so the linguists seem to think, but I feel that a kind of creeping obfuscation has grown up over our language that obscures and defiles the sharp distinctions that should exist. While the infer/imply debate seems to be a lost cause, to the impoverishment of the English language, surely we can still resist new misuses of words, particularly when important distinctions are lost. Parody and burlesque, for example. What Liam Lynch does is parody. What Weird Al does is burlesque. There is a difference, and calling burlesques parodies, and parodies also parodies, makes the language less precise. Likewise, calling a ripple a surge seems to me to blunt the instrument we communicate with, and perhaps we even think with, if Dr. Watson and his followers are right.

Which brings me to the three Rs—Reduction, Redundancy, and Redaction. All three of these words are under attack by creeping obfuscation. Redaction has been confounded with Censorship, Redundancy with Joblessness, and Reduction with Expansion.

Okay, reduction. How on earth could anybody confuse reduction and expansion? Are not increase and reduce opposites? Well, let’s take a look at the position of the Asia Pacific Partnership on Clean Development and Climate on this word. The APPCDC is a little-known outfit. The United States belongs to it, as well as Australia, South Korea, India, Japan, and China. According to one writer it is one of George Bush’s unsung triumphs. The APPCDC is promising to reduce emissions of greenhouse gases by half by the end of the century. And this without slowing the economy down or requiring any painful sacrifices by the people of the world. Sound impossible? Well, actually, it is, at least by the methods pursued by the APPCDC. The thing is, the APPCDC has its own private definition of reduce. We usually think of reduction as meaning decreasing the amount of something. The APPCDC has its own notion. For it, reduce means increase at a lower rate of speed. A scene from The Motor Chums in Strange Waters may perhaps illustrate the point:

“Slow down,” shrieked Ben Hangdog wildly, as the car increased its pace down the narrow country lane. “We’re going to crash!”

“Oh that’s impossible,” chuckled short Ned Eliot, “as the piano tuner said of the twelve-inch pianist. Not with Tom Wilshire driving.”

“In any case,” Harry Fletcher observed precisely, “Tom is in fact slowing down.”

“How can that be?” inquired Ben Hangdog wildly. “The speedometer just rounded sixty.”

“As you just observed,” replied Harry, “It took Tom no less than thirty-eight seconds to go from forty miles per hour to sixty.”

“So what?” screeched Ben. “We’re almost up to sixty-five! The gear box will never stand it!”

“But it took him almost twelve seconds. At the present rate we will only be at seventy-five when thirty-eight seconds have elapsed. The car is thus slowing down.”

“You’re crazy,” muttered Ben nervously, reaching for the door handle.

“No, it’s the simplest of simple math,” said Tom Wilshire confidently.

Made Redundant is now a synonym for being without a job, Redundancy refers to joblessness, and the word is a synonym for superfluous, even useless. This blunts the meaning. A certain amount of redundancy is necessary in a system, to make it robust. Redundancy refers to multiplication, not to necessity. We have perfectly good words for the concept of lacking necessity—superfluous, for one, and unnecessary, for another. Gratuitous. Uncalled for. Unneeded. Unwanted. The language itself uses redundancy as a device to counter noise, with such points of grammar as agreement of subject and verb, or of adjective and noun. The fact that the same information is delivered in more than one way is an example of redundancy—but the redundancy is nonetheless necessary grammatically. Huge systems (like the electrical grid that supplies the power we use to write and read this very entry) are designed with a certain amount of necessary redundancy in order to ensure that the failure of a part doesn’t mean the failure of the whole.

Now the other day when I was watching TV, or at least I had it on in the background, I heard a bit of dialog. The prosecution offered the defense a copy of an avadavat. “The name of the witness has been redacted,” protests the defense attorney. Redacted! I believe the term she was looking for was removed, or perhaps obliterated. The technical term is censored. Redacting a document does not mean censoring it—though censorship may well be one object of a redaction. Redacting a document is editing it—creating a new edition, perhaps to add material, perhaps to abridge it, perhaps to combine it with another account of the same events. Redaction criticism examines such an edited document, focusing on the differences between it and its source. This new and perverse use of the word to mean censor seems to me a kind of political correctness—censor is a bad word, so we just say redact. Never mind the damage done by this abuse of language.