Category Archives: religion

so close to vagabondery

Yesterday I did my advance voting and there was an Indian gentleman in line in front of me. He was probably in his fifties or sixties and he was pissed off at the election volunteers. See, he gave them ID when they asked and then they had the temerity to ask for something with his address on it (as per Elections Canada rules). He seemed to take it as an affront to his citizenship, saying stuff like “I have lived here for these forty years! You are wrong” Why do you want me not to vote? Fine! I will not vote!” The volunteers were saying that they just needed a bill or something that proved he was voting in the correct place, but he was just angry and convinced everyone was stupid but him. After the supervisor came over to help, he stormed out, leaving his passport behind so he could go get “some stupid piece of paper that I don’t even need!” They were really happy when I was easy to manage.

Then I picked up a pile of great books from Abraham, one of my classmates. A whole shwack of stuff about Chinese history and language and religion, plus a bunch of Italo Calvino books. So good. He’s pared down his books to two boxes which is really impressive. Some days I feel like I’d like to do that. But my books are important to me. I’m not as conflicted about them as I was last year. We’ll see how I feel when I move them away from Vancouver.

And today I packed up all my books and clothes into my storage space. I was very conscious of the order I put stuff in there today, so the most necessary books are more accessible than the infamous theology books. Also, my winter gear is right at the front and accessible for when Holly and I return in December from the height of Antipodean summer and stop off to go to Virginia for Xmas (and for me to make Santa Claus jokes I’m sure no one in that state has ever heard).

I like living in a city undergoing a traumatic sporting event. Everywhere today, people have been talking about this Canucks game tonight. The buses always have their Go Canucks Go signs in their lights, but today they felt a little more urgent. At the van rental place the guy said they might be closed by the time I returned the van “because, y’know, the game.” We’re hosting (I say “we” and “hosting” in the same sentence like I’m actually doing stuff beyond showing up – hell, Marlis is cleaning the kitchen right now while I type) a potluck tonight but it came to our attention that we’ll need to have the hockey streaming or else everyone would stay home. I doubt it’ll be like this in Winnipeg if they really do get an NHL team back, but maybe I’m just a pessimist.

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no arguing theology at a funeral

A week and a half ago my grandma died. She was the last of my grandparents. So I flew back to Winnipeg for the funeral over the weekend. As far as funerals go, it seemed fine. There was coffee and food at the viewing (not in the exact same space as the viewing; in a separate room so as not to get any crumbs on grandma) and the minister read her obituary and mangled everyone’s names. He did better at the funeral proper.

I hadn’t seen a lot of grandma in the past year or so. Even when I lived in Winnipeg I didn’t go over to hang out without my mom or anything. Last time I’d seen her was June or maybe July, when she’d just moved out to Niverville. Even then she’d lost a lot of weight, so I wasn’t too astonished at how little she looked like my stocky good-for-plow grandma in the casket. Wax and bone and un-permed hair is what was left for us to bury.

My cousin represented the grandchildren in the funeral service, and she told stories about food and games, all the normal grandmother kinds of things. She also told a story about how grandma’d been praying to die since she was 10. I didn’t remember that story. I remembered Grandma being ready to die for years though. Mom hated when she talked like that. But in the last couple of years it started to make sense. (To me. None of this is me speaking for my mother here. If you find this disrespectful, it’s all me.)

The minister who did the service wasn’t too bad. Grandma picked him beforehand, saying “he may not look like much but he gives a good sermon.” And though he talked about a lot of crap I find ridiculous, it was the kind of crap that grandma believed so I’d be a bit of an asshole for debating it or shaking my head in too superior a fashion. But at the gravesite in among the rest of the going home kind of talk, he said “Trudie’s now in a better place than she was in the last years of her life.” I appreciated that. It acknowledged that she’d wanted to die for a long time, felt she was done, but also recognized that she’d had better years in this vale of tears, times that were better than some notional afterlife.

But snicker as I might at notions of afterlife, I still do love old-timey gospel songs about dying. Much better than hymns. If you ever ask me to arrange a funeral that’s all it’s going to be. Fair warning.

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best proselytizing ever

I biked to school today. It was not too terribly hellish with hills, so I’m not sure what that bodes for my ride home in a few hours. Now, when I say “not too terribly hellish” I mean there was only one hill I was ready to slit my belly on the side of the road to apologize to the universe for my failure to climb it but please please please I just want to die. And this is where the evangelists came in.

So there’s this two-stage hill climbing W 8th up to UBC. Two thirds of the way up there’s a church. As I climbed up to be level with the church there were three or four retirees with beards out standing and cheering their fool heads off. I saw the cyclist ahead of me give them a high five as he went by and I dragged my carcass along towards them. They had a table saying “St. Someone’s Juice Stand” and they weren’t just giving out high fives, but juice-boxes and granola bars wrapped in a little “Here’s what our church does” pamphlet. It was actually kind of awesome. They just come in when you’re at your weakest and give the weary traveller sustenance wrapped in an inoffensive (as in, no hellfire and damnation of nonbelievers) message. Pretty slick.

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book review: the left hand of god

Paul Hoffman’s The Left Hand of God wasn’t really my cup of tea. It’s an alternate history (or sf) book about a boy who’s been brought up by this horrible cult to fight some unnamed Antagonists who then escapes with his (forbidden) friends out to the world. The whole thing felt like an amateurish take on Gene Wolfe’s (excellent) Book of the New Sun series.

Some of the things that annoyed me: Is it alternate history or SF? The city the three boys (and rescued girl) escape to is called Memphis and it’s unclear if this is the same Memphis that’s out in Egypt or not. There’s a desert, but the fort in York is a few days travel away. And Jesus of Nazareth was the guy who was in the belly of the whale. It feels like Hoffman was just pulling out historical names and places and slapping them down without any thought for how they’d interact. I think the Antagonists are Muslim analogues, but there are Jews that are just called Jews. It’s all very sloppy.

The Cult of the Hanged Redeemer is a cartoonishly dark take on Middle-Ages Christianity. So much so that I was sure the book was a fantasy novel. They eat gruel and get tortured and have to deal with their Original Sin and get flayed for breaking the rules. These are the ancestors of the Dan Brown Catholics. But Thomas Cale (the morally bereft thuggish anti-hero) got hit in the head as a young man and can tell what people are going to do in a fight, making him a preternatural killing machine.

Oh and he falls in love with the beautiful daughter of the Roman Empire governor analogue, but he’s so tortured and inarticulate. Oh noes. And apart from being a preternatural killer (demonstrated by his kicking the ass of the greatest fighter the Roman academy has produced in twenty years and then killing a hardened soldier who hates him in a gladiatorial duel) he’s a tactical genius and the battle in the end is lost due to other people’s incompetence and he does something heroic even though he’s so troubled.

I also hated the narrator’s voice. There’re these offhand implications that Cale will do great things and change the world, and these folksy “Oh but how could Cale know what she was thinking, the way we do?” kinds of asides that infuriated me.

And then the end of the book isn’t an ending but the point of departure for a series. A series I have no desire to read. Good thing I didn’t spend money on it. (It was a review copy from LibraryThing.)

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chun jie kuai le

I went out to buy cat food around noon today, and walking down Cumberland it smelled like China (except cold). It took me a few seconds to realize the smell was incense from the Huasing temple. There were tonnes of cars parked on the surrounding streets and people were coming out the front doors putting their sticks of incense in the cauldronnish thing out front. Happy new year.

I also went out to McNally Robinson to spend the gift certificate I received from my fellow cheese factorians, and then watched some Flames of War gaming down at Imagine before heading to the Towne for The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus. I liked the movie but was also glad I didn’t spend $12 to see it at Silver City.

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book review: fates worse than death

Is there anything better than a Kurt Vonnegut book? Nope. Not even when it’s a collection of speeches/articles written over twenty years ago when Cold War destruction coul have happened at any moment, which is what Fates Worse Than Death is. He calls it an autobiographical collage, which is a form I like. He veers between optimism and pessimism, about how everything’s going wrong and could go right if we weren’t so lazy and cheap. He talks about Indianapolis and about chemistry and about war and even Mozambique.

Whenever I read a Vonnegut book I want to go out and read another and another and another. But I don’t. I’m pacing myself. The guy’s dead and there’s only a finite amount of his stuff for me to find for the first time.

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on effability

Last night I went to see PZ Myers speak on “The War between Religion and Science.” His side is that creationism is bad because religion is bad. The highlight of the night came in the Q&A afterwards, in an exchange with what appeared to be a 13-year-old girl. She asked, in her wavering nervous voice, what he thought about purity rings that some of the kids today wear to symbolize that they aren’t going to have sex. He said that studies show that those wearers tend to be more active in terms of oral and anal sex so they don’t seem too effective. She responded from her microphone, “Well, actually, I think the rings are only about vaginal intercourse. Not oral or anal.” And there was general laughter, so I missed a bit before Myers (also laughing) said, “Yeah, purity rings signify you’re into anal.”

There was only one person in the Q&A asking questions from a creationist perspective, a Mr. Toews. Sean and I were kind of hoping there’d be more. As Myers said in response to another precocious kid, “A room full of atheists with one Christian can be just as smug as a room full of Christians with one atheist. It’s just a function of group dynamics.” It was a pretty smug room.

But the interesting part of the evening for me (aside from learning about Darrelle Revis) was afterwards when the three of us, Dave, Sean and I, were walking back to the van and Dave asked, “So, did he convert you?” It threw me off. Convert me? I would have thought I’d be seen as firmly on the side of science when it comes to creation vs evolution. And more skeptical/scientific leaning than religious in general. But the fact that Dave, my lifelong friend, could think otherwise, well, it gave me pause.

Now, Myers was talking about how stupid religion is because it depends on things that can’t be verified by evidence. Christianity is only an appeal to the authority of a book of bronze age legends (and assorted accretions from throughout the centuries). Just saying “It’s in the Bible” doesn’t make it so. I agree that that’s a bad way to think.

For most people, I’d argue, science is the same way. Sure, if you are actually a scientist you’re talking about piles of experiments and data that’s been collected and has proven reliable, and you are theoretically open to the possibility of the next discovery being made that could set the whole thing on its ear. But for many people all they hear is “It’s been scientifically proven that…” Regular non-scientist people don’t go searching through the journals to assess the methods used. They gloss over when scientists start talking about actual details.

A while back I was trying to explain to my mom how the proto-humans in Olduvai Gorge were determined to be as old as they are. I learned this stuff in university, and could explain how radioactive dating worked in general, but Mom asked, “But how do they know it works?” And I said things fit with the evidence so far. “What’s the other evidence? How do they know?” And I had to throw up my hands and say, “Look mom, they’re specialists! I trust them to know what they’re doing!” Because I don’t know what they’re doing exactly. I don’t think this is uncommon. People hand over the responsibility of thinking about science to the authorities, the same way people hand over thinking about morality to the clergy (or to their chosen traditional book of legends). It’s not like the age of some African fossils actually makes much of a difference to my life, so I’m not going to become an expert. This is why we get so much pseudo-science around, just like we get so much dangerous religion (and exploitative “spiritual” bullshit), because people aren’t interested in being responsible for what they think.

And yes you can blame bad basic science education for that. That’s certainly what PZ Myers is doing. But the fact of the matter is that not everyone in the world is going to be a scientist. He wants people who aren’t scientists to trust science, because it’s based on evidence. But when religion is based on experience you’ve got a problem. Science asks you to believe your senses. Well, not your senses exactly, the senses of these specialists who know what they’re doing. When the report from someone else’s senses comes into conflict with a person’s direct experience of whatever transcendence or peace or good feelings a person gets from religion that’s the issue. If my grandma is happy believing that she’s going to sit around on fluffy clouds praising Jesus with my dead grandpa for all eternity when she dies, me explaining how that’s just chemicals coursing through her brain on well worn neural pathways isn’t going to help her have a better life. Her experience of religion has far more weight with her than the words of some authority.

At the lecture last night there was mention of the humanistic philosophy being one that we are the creators of everything we find meaningful. And it’s investing something with meaning that’s one of the most important things we can do. Yes that something may be a collection of moral rules so our bunch of primates don’t rape each other constantly, but it’s also where our art or anything else we find meaningful comes in. A person asked a question about what hope the atheist community can offer to compete with what religion does. Myers said “Hope based on a lie is not hope.” Bullshit. All we’ve got are the lies we choose to believe in. That’s it.

I do think that the scientific method is the best way people have of understanding how the universe works. Right now. But. We made up the scientific method just like we made up all those myths we don’t believe anymore. Maybe it’s my Lovecraft showing, but I think there are important things we don’t know, that are ineffable (and possibly squamous). And that’s why we have created all these cultural phenomena like religion and science. Like stories and metaphor. We try to make things make sense, even though they won’t. I think a purely materialistic view of existence is wrong, especially for the individual, because it’s just as blinkered as dogmatic woowoobeliving. I think there are plenty of important unverifiable things. People are still small, fragile and stupid, and it seems the height of arrogance to think we can know everything, be it from ancient scriptures or analyzing fossils. Things are more complex than we want them to be. “The way that can be explained is not the eternal way.”

(I also believe in most of this.)

So yeah. That was my evening. And this post’s length is why I didn’t have a real good answer for Dave on the ride home. Sorry dude.

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book review: american gods

Neil Gaiman’s American Gods is one of my favourite stories ever. It’s about a man who gets pulled into a conflict between America’s old gods (Odin, Anubis, Anansi, leprechauns, et al) and its new (Television, Automobiles, the Internet). There are digressionary tales of people who brought their gods to America, but the main story is about this con artist who’s enlisted this guy to help defend the old ways.

One of the things it doesn’t deal with is the modern political dimension of religion. There’s a bit where they talk about the churches on every corner having nothing to do with holy sites where you have to make something, some sort of sacrifice. There’s an offhand comment about what a lucky son-of-a-virgin Jesus was, all stealing Mithras’ birthday and everything, but the political realities of America are left out. There is no discussion of Islamofascism or any of that political religious shit you can fill up with in the real world news. But there are paragraphs like this that make me love this book so much:

None of this can actually be happening. If it makes you more comfortable, you could simply think of it as metaphor. Religions are, by definition, metaphors, after all: God is a dream, a hope, a woman, an ironist, a father, a city, a house of many rooms, a watchmaker who left his prize chronometer in the desert, someone who loves you – even, perhaps, against all evidence, a celestial being whose only interest is to make sure your football team, army, business, or marriage thrives, prospers, and triumphs over all opposition.

Religions are places to stand and look and act, vantage points from which to view the world.

So none of this is happening. Such things could not occur. Never a word of it is literally true. Even so, the next thing that happened, happened like this:

There are more bits in there that I love, but the other day I watched a TED talk on metaphor and this bit leapt out at me. At work last night I was telling someone about the Pynchon bit about metaphor in V that goes:

Fausto’s kind are alone with the task of living in a universe of things which simply are, and cloaking that innate mindlessness with comfortable and pious metaphor so that the ‘practical’ half of humanity may continue in the Great Lie.”

That’s in the middle of a big chunk on the importance of poetry, which was worth the price of admission for me. So yes. Metaphor. Belief. Interesting stuff.

And this new copy of American Gods I received (in trade, not as an Xmas present) is signed by Neil Gaiman himself, from when he was in Winnipeg last month. I don’t have to get my 1st edition all banged up rereading it. So that’s cool. Thanks Steve.

But yes, American Gods is a great story. I’ve heard that there are people who don’t like it, and I honestly can’t understand why. I mean, I can understand the fact that some people don’t like beautiful wonderful things and would prefer to live in gray boxes without feeling or thinking about anything, but I don’t understand why someone would be like that. No accounting for taste I suppose.

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book review: the word of god

I can’t remember why I wanted to read The Word of God: or, Holy Writ Rewritten by Thomas M. Disch. I just know that something happened last week when I was working at Reader Services that made me say “I want to read something by Thomas M. Disch,” so I looked him up in our databases, found a book it looked like I might enjoy and then waited for it to be returned to the library. I had never read any of his books before so this one with its promise of the writer declaring himself god and including Philip K. Dick as a major character sounded like it would be up my proverbial alley. And it was. So I’m glad I had this desire whose origin I cannot place.

It’s the kind of novel that is more like a rambling old guy talking about different subjects. While it works well enough here (and when Kurt Vonnegut did it) it’s definitely the kind of thing I wouldn’t want to read from a younger writer. So rest assured that my books won’t be using this device any time soon. (Have I mentioned I’m working on a next book? I am. I’m trying a completely different approach to it: make it good from the beginning, and fuck the word count. We’ll see how it goes.)

Mary from down at the library said she’d started reading this and then when it changed tones she didn’t like it any more so she stopped. Because of this preview of hers I was waiting for the dramatic shift to happen. And waiting and waiting and waiting for about two thirds of the book. It never came. I don’t know what she was talking about in the slightest.

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31 seminary

Holly went to the seminary to hear Mark ? speak and to bring him to the Zhi Mian office. He’s part of this visiting delegation from Fuller Theological School’s psychology program, and was excited to hear that Holly’s thinking about their program. As he said it, they want someone who has some language and would be in China. Holly would fit in well on both counts. We talked about what it means to be part of an organization working in China and how MPC is built on the guanxi of the teachers towing the line so the higher ups have the ability to do cool stuff. Of course, the teachers get no access to the privileges, just bear responsibility. Being here completely independently would give people like Holly more freedom to make relationships with whoever she wanted than fitting into the MPC “here’s who we deal with” structure.

Especially about Zhi Mian and the seminary. Last year around this time is when all the shit went down that got Dr. Wang all disliked over there, and things are only slowly returning to normal. But Holly has to keep a low profile as a Zhi Mian employee so as to keep the peace, which is frustrating. She lives three doors down from it and yesterday was the first time she’d gone on the grounds. “If we’re trying to make connections why do I have to be invisible?” is the question.

Yesterday her plan was to be an English teacher at the seminary and work at Zhi Mian part time. That way it would be even and open. Who knows if that would actually work. But the bouncing between school and business, work and study is a big issue for Holly these days.

We ate with Wang Jing and Zhang Guo Xian again at the porridge place last night. But we also had Guo Tie, the big fried jiaozi. So good. The porridge guy is round and sort of friendly. I got all confused with the ordering which made Holly realize I don’t understand nearly as much as she thinks I do.

At the seminary in the evening Al Dueck from Fuller was doing a pastoral counselling session with a bunch of pastors. The topic was grieving and how a pastor counsels people through the process. He sounded like such an NPR voice with the languid pace and innumerable pauses. “Lake Wobegone” Holly said. His translator seemed to be a seminary student who was quick but after an hour and a half his attention was flagging and he had more trouble. Especially on the “wife withholding sexual relations” and the technical genetic talk about Dueck’s daughter’s baby who she brought to term so it could live for three hours instead of aborting it. “This is a life,” she said. “It’s sacred.”

He also talked about a counselling survey done last year about what the biggest issues were. I was so happy that when he asked for stories the pastors gave him nothing. They could have been in Chinese even, what with the translator, but they behaved like my students always did. Not a peep. He was good at waiting for them though. They talked about loss and grief and made a loss line for Jesus. I realized that that was the Christ I liked, the one who God had forsaken, who no one understood.

There were a couple of pastors who as the session went on got involved in their cell phones, one beeping really loudly. And Holly got pulled out to take calls from Sun Wen and Xiao Meng about something Sun Wen hadn’t been listening to her about earlier. I’m so glad I don’t have to work for those people. Holly goes on about Xuefu’s genius but since I don’t see that part, they just seem like a couple of jerks. Not very fair of me I know but them’s the breaks. After the thing at the seminary we watched Little Miss Sunshine down at Zhi Mian with Xiao Meng and a couple of counsellors. I do like that movie.

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