Some of you may be familiar with philosophers' attempts to prove God's existence. The simplest is put forth by Descartes, who in doubting reality, realized the only thing he could be sure of was that he doubted. Here's my paraphrase:
I doubt, therefore I think.
I think, therefore I exist.
I doubt, therefore I am imperfect.
I am imperfect, therefore imperfection exists.
Imperfection exists, therefore perfection exists.
God, by definition, is perfection, therefore God exists.
God is perfect, therefore God is good.
God is good, therefore God would not deceive us.
God would not deceive us, therefore the world and my experiences in it are real.
This proof actually shares the same fatal flaw as the other God proof I've heard:
Something can exist either in thought or in reality.
I can think of God, therefore God exists in thought.
It is more powerful to exist in reality than in thought.
God is, by definition, the most powerful, therefore God exists in reality.
The flaw, of course, is that we are asked to accept that because something is conceptualized, it must exist in accordance to its intrinsic characteristics. Yet if I believe that God is, by definition, a delicious jelly donut sitting on my desk, there is still no jelly donut on my desk. Those of us not well schooled in metaphysics may not be able to articulate exactly why we know these proofs are bogus, but we do know it.
(Note: I am not a philosopher, so if you're outraged at how much I screwed up my summary of these ideas, I apologize.)
However, in some of my musings this year, I have come across my own conditional proof that God exists. Conditional in that it does not prove God, but makes God a necessary derivative of another belief. Here it is:
If we have free will, God exists.
Maybe some of you are nodding your heads and saying "good point," or shaking your heads and saying "nope." You have probably already jumped ahead through everything else I'm about to say. If, however, you're going "huh?" then you can benefit from reading my explanation.
It started in Mexico. I have no real explanation for why it started in Mexico, except perhaps that I (like Descartes, it would seem) had a lot of free time on my hands. It was then that I began doubting free will.
It seems, scientifically, that to believe in free will, you must at some point stop your understanding of physical science. Scientifically speaking, our brains are very complex systems of electrical signals and chemical reactions that form what we experience as thought. Like everything in nature, these systems react to stimuli in the environment, chug through some insanely complex equations, and churn out an answer. It's conceptually no different from the reaction you get when you mix baking soda and vinegar, or when you charge a battery, or when you plant a seed. There are variables (how much vinegar you used, how long the battery is charging, nutrients in the soil, and so forth) that, depending on the complexity and our ability to measure them, we may or may not be aware of. But if we were to know all of these variables, we could predict the outcome. Chaos theory says that we cannot--that the universe is far too complex for us to predict outcomes like that. But if we were omniscient about the present, we would be able to predict the future.
Are you buying this? Let me ask you something: if you flip a coin, what are the chances that it will land heads? Fifty percent? Fifty-one percent? Say you flip a coin and it lands on heads. Given the exact physical circumstances of that toss--air currents in the room, your pulse, everything--what were the odds that it was going to be heads? I claim 100%. If you built a time machine, went back in time, and observed that coin toss again without changing anything (forget Heisenberg for a second), it would land on heads. Every time.
Apply the same concept to a choice. What will I eat for breakfast? Cereal or eggs? I think I'm choosing, but I'm actually just running an equation in my brain based on my hunger, how long it's been since I last ate eggs, how much time I have before I have to be in class, and so forth. I may choose to make eggs. If I go back in time and watch that play out again, I will once again choose to make eggs, because that was the outcome of that equation (note: for this reason I don't believe in alternate realities--at least not according to the "we create one with every choice" theory).
The end result is predetermination. Given the exact same circumstances, we will make the exact same choices, just like the same math equation will always yield the same result (and don't give me any plus-or-minus crap or start talking about the number i).
There's a whole concept in philosophy that assumes all this, and goes on to explain our experiences and sense of self: epiphenominalism. "In the Philosophy of Mind, a dualist theory of mind-body interaction which maintains all mental events are causally dependent upon physical events (i.e., brain states). According to this theory brain events cause mental events, but not vice versa" (Maricopa). Essentially, our experience of making a choice is actually a side-effect of our body making that choice. It's an illusion, unintended by the brain--a "ghost in the machine."
You may disagree, but I think all of this makes perfect sense.
So where does free will come in to play? Do we have free will? I believe I make choices all the time. I believe I have free will. Maybe I'm just suffering from the delusion of mental existence, but maybe I'm right, and there actually is free will. But here's the thing:
To the best of my scientific and philosophical understanding, free will is impossible. Therefore, free will can only exist by divine miracle.
Divine miracle means God.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
My Trek trek(s)
ONE
Having replaced my crappy, falling-apart free bike with a new Trek 7.2FX, I've been riding a lot more. A fast car may not win the race, but it definitely makes you more interested in entering.
Gripped by some mild form of the kind of madness that leads people to climb Everest or drop $60 grand to circumnavigate the globe (yes, I signed up), I decided that I would return to Goshen for Spring Break not by car, but by bicycle.
Within ten minutes of leaving home, I was miserable. The sky was gray, it was starting to drizzle, and, having no experience with making the journey in this particular manner, I didn't know if I had five hours ahead of me or seven. I didn't even know how far it was.
However horrible this idea was turning out to be, though, I couldn't turn back. There would be no shamefully trudging back into the house, and I couldn't risk the possibility that someone had witnessed me, backpack on my back and duffel bag strapped to my bike, going one way, and would be there still to witness my failure. So I decided that I had to make it decently close to halfway, at which point I could call Mom and beg for her to come get me.
Other than a couple of hills that gave me the opportunity to get all the way to my 24th gear (and to reconsider the literalness of the term "breakneck speed"), my first real ray of sunshine came when I hit the intersection of 300 and 1000, the first landmark of my journey. And speaking of sunshine, the sun was starting to come out at this point. I stopped for some water and rode on.
I rode and rode and rode, passing at least two intersections of Country Club Road and Country Club Road, which made staying on Country Club Road somewhat of a challenge. I did go off my planned path a couple of times, which I discovered only today as I examined my route on Google Earth.
And then it happened. The happiest moment of my life: seeing the sign that said "Warsaw City Limits." Two hours, and I'd made it to Warsaw. Elated, I rode on, stopping at Arby's for a bathroom break and some water. And on I rode.
The three miles from Warsaw to Leesburg were a bit tedious, and the five miles from Leesburg to Milford were even worse. It was getting darker and colder, and the traffic on State Road 15 was causing more stress than the leisurely country roads I'd stuck to so far. But I did make it to Milford, where I stopped for a power bar and some gatorade, and my bike fell on me (yes, on me: I was sitting next to it) and bruised my wrist. I then got on Old State Road 15, which was refreshingly devoid of traffic, and rode on.
The ride from Milford to New Paris was better than the previous two legs, but I was getting pretty tired of biking and biking (and biking). But once I made it to New Paris, Goshen was simple. And once you're within the city limits on the south side, it's not far to my house. All told, stops included, I made the 44.5 mile ride in 4:15, for an average of 10.47 mph. That's probably just over 11 mph average during actual riding, which I'm pretty happy with given the nasty winds and hills that sometimes had me at a walking pace.
TWO
I do not want to find out what it feels like to bike 45 miles and then not exercise afterwards, so I took my bike out for a ride around the bike trails today. I went down the millrace and then detoured into Shenklin Park, thinking I'd take the trail through the woods and up to Indiana Avenue, then head over to Kercher Road and back home. I rode through a couple of shallow but formidable puddles, then found my plan challenged: the river had flooded, and the trails in the woods were entirely underwater. There was only one thing to do.
I kept going. The water probably wasn't more than eight inches high at its highest points, but it was enough to soak my feet (and the only shoes I brought). I had to keep pedaling, forcing my bike through the sand and gravel under the water, because stopping meant standing in cold river water. And I also had to keep a close watch to make sure I wasn't getting in too deep or, as became a danger at one point, that I wasn't leaving the trail and riding straight into the river.
When I made it to the edge of the woods, I changed my plan. Instead of heading over to Indiana, I went back through the woods. It was just too much fun to resist. It was even more exciting the second time because, due to the angle of the sun and its reflection on the water, I really couldn't tell where I was going.
I rode back up the millrace, ditched my shoes and socks on our back stoop, showered, and stole some of Dad's clothes. Then I had a power bar and some milk, and Mom gave me twenty dollars. It's my twenty dollars, but it's still nice to have money.
So far, spring break has been good.
Having replaced my crappy, falling-apart free bike with a new Trek 7.2FX, I've been riding a lot more. A fast car may not win the race, but it definitely makes you more interested in entering.
Gripped by some mild form of the kind of madness that leads people to climb Everest or drop $60 grand to circumnavigate the globe (yes, I signed up), I decided that I would return to Goshen for Spring Break not by car, but by bicycle.
Within ten minutes of leaving home, I was miserable. The sky was gray, it was starting to drizzle, and, having no experience with making the journey in this particular manner, I didn't know if I had five hours ahead of me or seven. I didn't even know how far it was.
However horrible this idea was turning out to be, though, I couldn't turn back. There would be no shamefully trudging back into the house, and I couldn't risk the possibility that someone had witnessed me, backpack on my back and duffel bag strapped to my bike, going one way, and would be there still to witness my failure. So I decided that I had to make it decently close to halfway, at which point I could call Mom and beg for her to come get me.
Other than a couple of hills that gave me the opportunity to get all the way to my 24th gear (and to reconsider the literalness of the term "breakneck speed"), my first real ray of sunshine came when I hit the intersection of 300 and 1000, the first landmark of my journey. And speaking of sunshine, the sun was starting to come out at this point. I stopped for some water and rode on.
I rode and rode and rode, passing at least two intersections of Country Club Road and Country Club Road, which made staying on Country Club Road somewhat of a challenge. I did go off my planned path a couple of times, which I discovered only today as I examined my route on Google Earth.
And then it happened. The happiest moment of my life: seeing the sign that said "Warsaw City Limits." Two hours, and I'd made it to Warsaw. Elated, I rode on, stopping at Arby's for a bathroom break and some water. And on I rode.
The three miles from Warsaw to Leesburg were a bit tedious, and the five miles from Leesburg to Milford were even worse. It was getting darker and colder, and the traffic on State Road 15 was causing more stress than the leisurely country roads I'd stuck to so far. But I did make it to Milford, where I stopped for a power bar and some gatorade, and my bike fell on me (yes, on me: I was sitting next to it) and bruised my wrist. I then got on Old State Road 15, which was refreshingly devoid of traffic, and rode on.
The ride from Milford to New Paris was better than the previous two legs, but I was getting pretty tired of biking and biking (and biking). But once I made it to New Paris, Goshen was simple. And once you're within the city limits on the south side, it's not far to my house. All told, stops included, I made the 44.5 mile ride in 4:15, for an average of 10.47 mph. That's probably just over 11 mph average during actual riding, which I'm pretty happy with given the nasty winds and hills that sometimes had me at a walking pace.
TWO
I do not want to find out what it feels like to bike 45 miles and then not exercise afterwards, so I took my bike out for a ride around the bike trails today. I went down the millrace and then detoured into Shenklin Park, thinking I'd take the trail through the woods and up to Indiana Avenue, then head over to Kercher Road and back home. I rode through a couple of shallow but formidable puddles, then found my plan challenged: the river had flooded, and the trails in the woods were entirely underwater. There was only one thing to do.
I kept going. The water probably wasn't more than eight inches high at its highest points, but it was enough to soak my feet (and the only shoes I brought). I had to keep pedaling, forcing my bike through the sand and gravel under the water, because stopping meant standing in cold river water. And I also had to keep a close watch to make sure I wasn't getting in too deep or, as became a danger at one point, that I wasn't leaving the trail and riding straight into the river.
When I made it to the edge of the woods, I changed my plan. Instead of heading over to Indiana, I went back through the woods. It was just too much fun to resist. It was even more exciting the second time because, due to the angle of the sun and its reflection on the water, I really couldn't tell where I was going.
I rode back up the millrace, ditched my shoes and socks on our back stoop, showered, and stole some of Dad's clothes. Then I had a power bar and some milk, and Mom gave me twenty dollars. It's my twenty dollars, but it's still nice to have money.
So far, spring break has been good.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Time, money, and the state of the world
There is not enough time in my life right now.
Perhaps I am, three and one half years in, learning what it is like to be in college.
I have 12.5 credit hours of class per week, but since the .5 is a PE credit, it doesn't reflect actual class time. So I am in class for 13.5 hours per week.
The official estimate is that we should spend three hours outside of class studying for every one hour we spend in class. While this might actually be necessary for me this semester, I've never done it before, so we'll settle on two. I need to spend 24 hours studying per week.
My manager continues to only pretend to hear that I need fewer hours. I work 22-30 hours per week. We'll settle on 24.
I teach Sunday school, which also requires me to be in Church. I won't pretend I spend any significant amount of time preparing for this. Two hours per week.
That's 63.5 hours per week, just from my schedule and associated regular responsibilities (75.5 if I spend the suggested three hours studying). On top of that, I am required to write an article for an academic journal, which is a bigger single assignment than I have ever previously had, by March. I am preaching in church Sunday, and in chapel next month. And I am possibly working with one of my professors to refine a paper from last semester, because she thinks it might be polished into something worthy of publication.
Somehow, they expect people to apply for graduate school amidst this mess?
It is not even close to possible for me to stay on top of everything. I have yet to complete a single assignment for the new semester, and have done only one required reading. Never have I felt so stretched out--and stressed out.
As I drove earlier tonight through the reflections I'm now rehashing, my source of stress quickly shifted from the time to the money.
The only significant time sink I can ditch is work. Unfortunately, while my savings might be able to feed me for the rest of this semester, I'll be unable to spend any on anything else. I might have more money if they didn't keep adding new books for me to buy and obscene graduation fees to pay. I will have no bar nights with friends, no bike to ride to campus, no movie or game rentals, no visits to the coffee shop, and no completion of my nearly-complete David Sedaris collection. In a sense, my current schedule is almost a blessing, because if I lighten it I'll have nothing to do with any leisure time I finally gain. I can survive without my job, but only in the literal sense (and perhaps the spiritual sense, as my work is certainly ethically questionable).
Then my thoughts shifted again. Even I am not selfish enough to dwell on myself for too long.
I will be fine. I have an extensive support system, from my parents, who I'm sure would never let me starve (though a little hunger would probably be good for me), to friends who range from "you need to eat, I'm paying" to "take this money." For me, financial stress is a question of whether I can go out with my friends.
For some people, it is a question of life and death.
What stupid idiot came up with money in the first place? Why do we need this? Someone has to die because what, he didn't sell enough coffee beans, or Wal Mart came and drove him out of his livelihood? Does anyone see this happening?
God and I had a little shouting match about this tonight. Or rather, I had a little shouting match about this tonight--the nice thing about having a shouting match with God is she usually lets me win.
But as Saint Francis so many years before, I found the question being bounced right back at me. Why do you allow poverty?
"Listening to God." There's some sort of thematic focus on that next week that deviates from the standard Lectionary for the Church of the Brethren. It's an interesting topic, and one I can take a few different ways. I suppose it boils down to the usual dichotomy between Biblical and bearable, the former being this:
God speaks to us with the suffering of others. Every cry for help in the world is God's call for us to stop dicking around and do what Christ told us to do. It happens halfway across the globe as thousands starve in a world with more than enough food for everyone, and it happens in our own cities as weathered people beg for spare change in the streets. And like any good child, we've become adept at tuning out our parent, and even better at justifying it. The hungry children in Africa or Asia are too distant for us to immediately help, and the hungry man on the street corner is probably going to spend the money on drugs.
We make these stupid indefensible arguments so we don't have to give up our flex money or, worse, look these people in the eye. Do you feel like a piece of your soul dies every time you pretend not to see them? I do. And I can tell you why: it's because we just hung up the phone on God, again.
Awful, isn't it? I feel awful. You probably feel awful.
Let's go to church and sing a while and pretend we've done our bit.
Perhaps I am, three and one half years in, learning what it is like to be in college.
I have 12.5 credit hours of class per week, but since the .5 is a PE credit, it doesn't reflect actual class time. So I am in class for 13.5 hours per week.
The official estimate is that we should spend three hours outside of class studying for every one hour we spend in class. While this might actually be necessary for me this semester, I've never done it before, so we'll settle on two. I need to spend 24 hours studying per week.
My manager continues to only pretend to hear that I need fewer hours. I work 22-30 hours per week. We'll settle on 24.
I teach Sunday school, which also requires me to be in Church. I won't pretend I spend any significant amount of time preparing for this. Two hours per week.
That's 63.5 hours per week, just from my schedule and associated regular responsibilities (75.5 if I spend the suggested three hours studying). On top of that, I am required to write an article for an academic journal, which is a bigger single assignment than I have ever previously had, by March. I am preaching in church Sunday, and in chapel next month. And I am possibly working with one of my professors to refine a paper from last semester, because she thinks it might be polished into something worthy of publication.
Somehow, they expect people to apply for graduate school amidst this mess?
It is not even close to possible for me to stay on top of everything. I have yet to complete a single assignment for the new semester, and have done only one required reading. Never have I felt so stretched out--and stressed out.
As I drove earlier tonight through the reflections I'm now rehashing, my source of stress quickly shifted from the time to the money.
The only significant time sink I can ditch is work. Unfortunately, while my savings might be able to feed me for the rest of this semester, I'll be unable to spend any on anything else. I might have more money if they didn't keep adding new books for me to buy and obscene graduation fees to pay. I will have no bar nights with friends, no bike to ride to campus, no movie or game rentals, no visits to the coffee shop, and no completion of my nearly-complete David Sedaris collection. In a sense, my current schedule is almost a blessing, because if I lighten it I'll have nothing to do with any leisure time I finally gain. I can survive without my job, but only in the literal sense (and perhaps the spiritual sense, as my work is certainly ethically questionable).
Then my thoughts shifted again. Even I am not selfish enough to dwell on myself for too long.
I will be fine. I have an extensive support system, from my parents, who I'm sure would never let me starve (though a little hunger would probably be good for me), to friends who range from "you need to eat, I'm paying" to "take this money." For me, financial stress is a question of whether I can go out with my friends.
For some people, it is a question of life and death.
What stupid idiot came up with money in the first place? Why do we need this? Someone has to die because what, he didn't sell enough coffee beans, or Wal Mart came and drove him out of his livelihood? Does anyone see this happening?
God and I had a little shouting match about this tonight. Or rather, I had a little shouting match about this tonight--the nice thing about having a shouting match with God is she usually lets me win.
But as Saint Francis so many years before, I found the question being bounced right back at me. Why do you allow poverty?
"Listening to God." There's some sort of thematic focus on that next week that deviates from the standard Lectionary for the Church of the Brethren. It's an interesting topic, and one I can take a few different ways. I suppose it boils down to the usual dichotomy between Biblical and bearable, the former being this:
God speaks to us with the suffering of others. Every cry for help in the world is God's call for us to stop dicking around and do what Christ told us to do. It happens halfway across the globe as thousands starve in a world with more than enough food for everyone, and it happens in our own cities as weathered people beg for spare change in the streets. And like any good child, we've become adept at tuning out our parent, and even better at justifying it. The hungry children in Africa or Asia are too distant for us to immediately help, and the hungry man on the street corner is probably going to spend the money on drugs.
We make these stupid indefensible arguments so we don't have to give up our flex money or, worse, look these people in the eye. Do you feel like a piece of your soul dies every time you pretend not to see them? I do. And I can tell you why: it's because we just hung up the phone on God, again.
Awful, isn't it? I feel awful. You probably feel awful.
Let's go to church and sing a while and pretend we've done our bit.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)