Would it not be perfect to see everything all at once? To capture every spiralling drop; every expanding crystal lattice; every cell in a muscle contracting in sensational unison; every blustering squall that contributes to a cyclone? To see, on innumerable display screens, the lives of ten thousand billion organisms played out as a cosmic theatre production? To have this glorious spectacle stored forever as solid data, to be collated, reviewed, consumed and analytically dissected by humans? Or better still, scrutinized by perfect, immortal robotic systems? Would it not be impressive to be a part of this experiment? To initiate it? Create it, bring it about. You would think so. After all, you are, as I am, a striver: a sprinter, an achiever, a target-archer. A human. An analyst. I once brought this great, unfathomable wish within a hair’s breadth of reality. Grim, unforgiving reality.
***
His hand paused, ready to push, on the burnished bronze panel. He held his palm there for a second, mildly caressing the cool metal set into the shining, polished wooden doors. And such doors! He had seen them only once before, on receiving the honour of High Pilot from the Council, who, for the second time, lay beyond them. Looking at them for a following time they were no less grand. No less indulgent, no less austere, than in their first meeting. Three times as high as him - and he a well-built, healthy adult human - and carved from some beautiful tree. A tree from Earth? Possibly. Trees from a new planet? Given the Council’s wealth and exuberance, far more likely.
He breathed in deeply; part preparation for the oncoming test of nerves, part gratuitous inhalation of the rich filtered air that, at great financial and manual cost, passed through these expansive chambers. He remembered his colleague behind him, turned his head to the side and sighed, “Are you ready?”
“I’m shittin’ myself, Noa”
“Yeah, me too. This is big news, but it’s what they’re looking for. I’m sure they’ll take it well.” He turned his head again to the extravagant timber, then back to his friend, “And we let them know we were coming. Had to send a comm fourteen weeks ago to book a hearing with these guys. Hopefully they won’t be angry at the lost time.”
“Wondered why you were taking so long to get back to me. Thought you’d offed yourself or something.”
“Me? No. I tried that before. Didn’t work. Sorry, I haven’t been in contact recently...I took a trip to the Ravere system. Had to clear my head.”
Earth High Pilot Noa Jona pushed steadily with a careful concoction of might and respect on the door. Its weight resisted him heavily, at first, as if Newtonian physics or some other, far more mystic and unseen, forces rejected his presence within. However, he soon felt a small hidden mechanism assist him. He heard its small purring whirr, and the door started slowly to give. He pushed with both hands. The light of the corridor he stood in was swallowed by the dim crack he had created. He stepped through this small breach and stopped. There they are.
A crescent-shaped table, of the same fantastic wood as the doors now behind him, was lit up in front of Noa by cones of a soft light. Beneath these beams sat the people he was here to see: undoubtedly the most powerful men on Earth. That particular thought had possessed him many times in the past few months. Last time he just had to salute and go through a ritual. Now he had to talk to them. He held the door slightly for his friend, straining under its only partially-relieved immense mass, and then started towards the group. His awkward steps betrayed his nervousness, and his palms sweated. He held his torso high in faux-pride, however. The table seemed lightyears away. The tapping footsteps of his Craft boots echoed solidly on the flagstones below, echoed around the cavernous chamber.
In the subdued light to his sides he began to see shapes form, emerging from the darkness as they recognised the presence of a fellow observer. Some of these shapes he remembered from his last visit, some were new. Glowing rocks; small field-encased gas clouds; beautiful sculptures – representations of scientific theories – double helices, networks, chaotic shapes; and busts of the greats. Newton. Darwin. Kefter. Bexa. Doesn’t matter, look forward. Look ahead. Look positive.
The dusky light was so pressing in this place. He felt enclosed, encased; alone. There were tall windows and skylights above him, but these had long been encrusted with grime and soot. Outside had been irreversibly damaged in the past few decades – smog and putrid fumes choked the cities, and were beginning to creep to the rest of Earth, the last havens of unspoiled remote beauty spots. Nothing like the crisp, clean world that The Renews had envisioned: this planet was now damaged; defunct. Maybe the Councillors liked the gloom, Noa guessed. It would certainly fit their grim, droll personality.
Their eyes had been on him since he entered. He knew they would have been, but he could only tell for sure as he got close enough. Gold and silver bespectacled faces peered through him, scrutinised him, and observed him, as gamma rays would penetrate a brick wall. One of them looked down at the desk to arrange some papers, no doubt cross-checking his visage with that on a file. They were so ancient, these men and women. Were they still even in touch with reality? Had they seen the damage their kind had caused outside? They lived their lives in this building, it was rumoured. They stalked the halls during the day, and were held in stasis pods at night, where they were fed, watered, de-aged and informed by countless data cables. If one were to acknowledge the hearsay, one would doubt these individuals were even human. Yet here they were, breathing and assessing in front of Noa, trying to penetrate his confident air, hating like no robot or android possibly could.
“Good evening, Pilot Jona,” came a voice from the centre: a balding, sneering face. Noa stood to attention.
“Council.” He nodded with military precision and clarity. The bald dome shifted slightly to the right to examine the man behind Noa.
“And good evening, Lieutenant”
“Cay, get over here,” Noa hissed. His friend shuffled quickly forward to stand to attention at the Pilot’s side.
“Good evening, Sir,” replied Earth Lt. Cay, nervously.
There was a horrible stillness. Of motion and of thought. Cay hazarded a glance at his friend. It was not returned.
“So, what?” The bald man gestured with his palms, questioning.
“You did not get my personal message, Councillor?” Perspiration began to form on the Pilot’s brow.
“No, Jona.” The bald man glanced at his colleagues in annoyed amusement. One of them gave a small chuckle, looked down at a paper on the desk and ticked a small box. Noa wanted to strain to read it, but was firmly petrified to the spot.
“Spit it out, then”
“Sir, it’s about, hmm, our recent voyage.”
“To Sinai? It was successful, wasn’t it? You got what you went for? The planet was successfully tagged and flagged?”
“Yes, Sir, but-”
“Well? What are you standing in front of us for then? Just here for a chat?”
“Sir, you asked all stellists to report to you if we encountered –“
“Sentients?” The bald man cut him off.
Noa nodded solemnly.
Silence. The councillors looked at each other, and immediately scribbled short notes on their desks, and mouthed messages through their invisible mouthpieces to their contacts. Noa could hear the tapping of fingers against flat plastic screens. He could see the other councillors’ faces shrouded in shadow as their bent heads obscured their faces from the lights above them. He sniffed the clean, unwelcoming, air. After a long, whispered telecommunication with a colleague, the balding one looked straight ahead. Noa could see the messages flushing in vivid blue across his glasses. He looked back at Noa and their eyes met.
“We’re readied the Linnaeus for you, Jona. With a team of observers. You leave immediately.”
“Sir, I’m still recovering from my flight today. With all due respect, I’m entitled to my sickness hours”
“You’re going back to Sinai, to observe the sentients, and the rest of the planet.”
“Councillor, I –“
“We’ve equipped the craft with brand new tech: your new crew will brief you on it this evening. The Lieutenant will stay here with us for a short interrogation.”
“It’s unsafe, Sir. I physically can’t do it!”
“Do not use that tone with us, Jona! Your health is far secondary to what we will be achieving if we act fast, and reach Sinai again before the other colonies”
“Sir, we don’t even know if -“
A powerful fist crashed down mightily on the desk - “Jona, get out of this room and perform your duty to your Council!”
Lt. Cay watched in apprehension as the man, associate and friend he most dearly revered saluted, turned on his heel and marched out of the auditorium: spurned, degraded.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Something very interesting
So, I'm reading a bleeding fantastic book at the moment: 'Guns, Germs and Steel' by Jared Diamond, after a reccommendation from a friend of mine.
Diamond's book is primarily about why the civilizations of the Eurasion landmass have been far more technologically and dominatingly successful throughout human history. The most interesting point he's made so far (I'm not long into the book!), which I want to mention here, is about humans migrating to different continents and their subsequent use of the terrain.
One of the first, and most important, steps in the creation of a human society is development of food production - farming. If an animal can be domesticated and used for work that was previously reserved for humans, or used as food itself, then the humans doing the domesticating have less work to do, and more food to eat, allowing for human effort (as a society) to be put into other causes, such as craftmanship or politics.
This is exactly what happened in Africa and the Eurasian continents - humans evolved in coexistence with other large animals. These animals developed a sense of fear of humans, so could survive alongside them and not get made extinct. However, when humans migrated to southeast Asia, particularly New Guinea/Australia, and to the New World (mostly North America) they came into contact with megafauna (large animals) that had never been exposed to humans. This allowed the new immigrants to easily pick off the animals for food, and soon - within millennia - drove them all to extinction.
Subsequently, there were no large animals to domesticate for the uses described above. This led to the Aboriginal and North American indiginous peoples' inabilities to develop food production. Consequently, when these cultures were discovered by Eurasians in the 2nd millennium AD, they were still living as hunter-gatherer societies using stone tools. Essentially, they were 'living in the stone age'.
Of course, this is not at all to say that these societies were less developed cognitively - Diamond asserts that they possess the same abilities as any other modern human society. They simply lacked the technological developments that African and Eurasian cultures created because of their ability to farm.
Neat!
Diamond's book is primarily about why the civilizations of the Eurasion landmass have been far more technologically and dominatingly successful throughout human history. The most interesting point he's made so far (I'm not long into the book!), which I want to mention here, is about humans migrating to different continents and their subsequent use of the terrain.
One of the first, and most important, steps in the creation of a human society is development of food production - farming. If an animal can be domesticated and used for work that was previously reserved for humans, or used as food itself, then the humans doing the domesticating have less work to do, and more food to eat, allowing for human effort (as a society) to be put into other causes, such as craftmanship or politics.
This is exactly what happened in Africa and the Eurasian continents - humans evolved in coexistence with other large animals. These animals developed a sense of fear of humans, so could survive alongside them and not get made extinct. However, when humans migrated to southeast Asia, particularly New Guinea/Australia, and to the New World (mostly North America) they came into contact with megafauna (large animals) that had never been exposed to humans. This allowed the new immigrants to easily pick off the animals for food, and soon - within millennia - drove them all to extinction.
Subsequently, there were no large animals to domesticate for the uses described above. This led to the Aboriginal and North American indiginous peoples' inabilities to develop food production. Consequently, when these cultures were discovered by Eurasians in the 2nd millennium AD, they were still living as hunter-gatherer societies using stone tools. Essentially, they were 'living in the stone age'.
Of course, this is not at all to say that these societies were less developed cognitively - Diamond asserts that they possess the same abilities as any other modern human society. They simply lacked the technological developments that African and Eurasian cultures created because of their ability to farm.
Neat!
Friday, March 20, 2009
Jealousy, thy name is Temperature.
You know who I'm really envious of? Luke. Yeah, that guy. Remember him? Remember that guy? You know, him. The guy that invented that certain type of water that's not too hot and not too cold. About room-temperature.
I'm jealous of him because his self-styled warmth is used across the English speaking world by nearly every person, nearly every week or two. That's a lot of useage! Compared to, say, the Bernoulli principle (you have no idea how long I took to think of that - trying to imagine something that's famous enough to be named, but not famous enough to be talked about on a day-to-day basis). If you're not familiar with the Bernouilli principle, fair enough, but that's enough to say that, well, Bernoulli, your principle just didn't cut it in terms of memorability. Not like Luke's word.
Good on you, Luke.
What a life he must have, lording it up in some semi-detached mansion somewhere, chuckling to himself in a "me-warm" bath, flicking the TV channels with a pretty big remote control, while ambivalent, partly-nude women flit in and out of his corion/marble combo bathroom, bringing him really milky cups of tea and bunches of half-ripened grapes.
Come to think of it, I'm not acually jealous of Luke. Not because of his disgustingly egotistical lifestyle, but because he forgot one important detail, one item that anyone creating an eponym would want to include: his surname. So, I'm not jealous of Luke anymore because he's an idiot.
Actually, Luke could be a surname in itself. Hmm, that's me stumped....
That said, he didn't even choose to capitalise whichever name he used, be it surname or fore. It's just...'lukewarm'. With a lower case l. So my point still stands - luke is a moron. Go to Hell, luke, you pathetic namer.
I'm jealous of him because his self-styled warmth is used across the English speaking world by nearly every person, nearly every week or two. That's a lot of useage! Compared to, say, the Bernoulli principle (you have no idea how long I took to think of that - trying to imagine something that's famous enough to be named, but not famous enough to be talked about on a day-to-day basis). If you're not familiar with the Bernouilli principle, fair enough, but that's enough to say that, well, Bernoulli, your principle just didn't cut it in terms of memorability. Not like Luke's word.
Good on you, Luke.
What a life he must have, lording it up in some semi-detached mansion somewhere, chuckling to himself in a "me-warm" bath, flicking the TV channels with a pretty big remote control, while ambivalent, partly-nude women flit in and out of his corion/marble combo bathroom, bringing him really milky cups of tea and bunches of half-ripened grapes.
Come to think of it, I'm not acually jealous of Luke. Not because of his disgustingly egotistical lifestyle, but because he forgot one important detail, one item that anyone creating an eponym would want to include: his surname. So, I'm not jealous of Luke anymore because he's an idiot.
Actually, Luke could be a surname in itself. Hmm, that's me stumped....
That said, he didn't even choose to capitalise whichever name he used, be it surname or fore. It's just...'lukewarm'. With a lower case l. So my point still stands - luke is a moron. Go to Hell, luke, you pathetic namer.
Monday, March 16, 2009
A thought on consumerism (yeah, stick it to The Man!)
My toothbrush has worn out. Its fibres are all splayed and I find it hard to reach the little nooks and crannies between my molars. So as I was trying hard to use this failed instrument for its purpose this morning, I thought, nay, knew that Oral-B, who made it, definitely had the technology to make a non-splaying brush, or at least a brush that lasted longer. This one lasted about 2 months. This raises three questions:
1) Can a toothbrush perform its job just as well when it is splayed? In other words, have we falsely been told that toothbrushes (teethbrush?) need to be replaced?
2) Does a non-splaying toothbrush exist in a top-secret, military underground Oral-B base somewhere? And they're just not selling it to us, the poor consumer?
3) Are we just too reliant on tooth technology companies? Can we live fine without toothbrushes? (Probably not, unless you're a hippie or a sociopath)
I believe a combination answer can combat all of the above: we have come to be so reliant on consumerism, through both our own and society's faults, that we have reached the point of no return, so that any change we try to make against this will be detrimental. If we all stop using toothbrushes, our teeth will eventually rot and become useless in later life, possibly even reducing our lifespan, and Oral-B would go out of business, people would lose their jobs and their livelihoods. If we keep on buying toothbrushes regularly, The Man will just reduce the lifespan of an average toothbrush once again, and we will be buying toothbrushes even more frequently. And if, say, Colgate released a non-splaying toothbrush, then the economy would lapse into a recession. That's right,
IF YOU STOP BUYING TOOTHBRUSHES, SOCIETY AS WE KNOW IT WILL COLLAPSE
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Food - what's that all about then?
So, there I was, in my pyjamas (yes, I have pyjamas, why do you care? They happen to be very comfortable and stylish. But it's not like anyone is observing my dress sense when I'm asleep is it? Is it? Erm). Mhm, in my pyjamas. I slurred to the kitchen to pour a bowl of cornflakes - pretty standard for me. It's a bland choice, but I like to think cornflakes reflect my economical situation rather than my dismal, monochromal outlook on life (which, by the way, I don't have).
So, I shovel the first spoonful into my mouth, and they hit my tongue. And I can't taste anything except milk. I can feel them crunching and showly getting soggy. But I can't taste them. And I think, "This is weird, it must be some sort of physiological anomaly to do with getting up early. Maybe it's my taste buds, they're under-stimulated overnight or something. Maybe I should eat a smint before I go to sleep." and other distracted thoughts. Then it hit me.
Cheap food is abhorrently abysmal.
It wasn't my tongue that was the problem. It was the recycled, re-coloured, re-corned Chinese toilet roll that I was loading into my mouth. I wanted to spit them out. Then I realised that doing so would be a terrible financial decision for me, and chomped them down anyway. Mr and Mrs Tesco, if you are reading this, ask yourself, 'Would I want my children eating wood mulch for breakfast?'. No, no of course you wouldn't. Then stop making this garbage.
Of course, it's not that simple. The world, including me, needs garbage. We need these tasteless calories to stay alive. And at the end of the day, isn't any food with a nice taste just a bonus?
Food for thought. (heh)
So, I shovel the first spoonful into my mouth, and they hit my tongue. And I can't taste anything except milk. I can feel them crunching and showly getting soggy. But I can't taste them. And I think, "This is weird, it must be some sort of physiological anomaly to do with getting up early. Maybe it's my taste buds, they're under-stimulated overnight or something. Maybe I should eat a smint before I go to sleep." and other distracted thoughts. Then it hit me.
Cheap food is abhorrently abysmal.
It wasn't my tongue that was the problem. It was the recycled, re-coloured, re-corned Chinese toilet roll that I was loading into my mouth. I wanted to spit them out. Then I realised that doing so would be a terrible financial decision for me, and chomped them down anyway. Mr and Mrs Tesco, if you are reading this, ask yourself, 'Would I want my children eating wood mulch for breakfast?'. No, no of course you wouldn't. Then stop making this garbage.
Of course, it's not that simple. The world, including me, needs garbage. We need these tasteless calories to stay alive. And at the end of the day, isn't any food with a nice taste just a bonus?
Food for thought. (heh)
Monday, March 9, 2009
Dreamscape II
By the sad twisting strings of some glowing sky beams
a boy pilots his craft through a delta of streams.
He weaves a small rudder between select waves,
and sends handfuls of stones to their silvery graves.
Looking down to the bed, he glimpses sand sift,
a darting of shadows, a mellowy shift.
The green yellow waters make fine patterns of gold
and whatever moved hides behind boulders of bold.
His curious nature leans his head overboard
and fast playful crests lick their childish lord.
Small simple fingers dip down to the flow -
the waters push past them to where waters go -
his palms follow suit, and his elbows and arms,
and he strains half his body to the coral so calm.
He fishes around for an object to mold,
and his hands wrap around a peculiar hold.
It wriggles around, and it tries to escape
from the powerful claws that are wrenching its shape.
But its master has won and the surface awaits:
the boy's face is rippled by the waves it creates.
He brings the small monster right up to his eyes -
it twists to the babble to say its goodbyes -
but benevolent forces look down on the thing
and the boy hurls the creature back into the spring.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Go and see this movie because it is good
So, I'm a big fan of the Watchmen comic (I refuse to use the phrase 'graphic novel'. It's a comic. You guys with beards and figurines and Asian girlfriends, they're comics. Really, I mean, honestly. Get over it). If you're not familiar with the COMIC, it was written by Alan Moore (crazy wizard of a guy, whose other works include V for Vendetta, From Hell, and the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen), and inked by Dave Gibbons. And it is great:
Watchmen is a highly critical and symbolic story that charts the decline of the 'masked heroes' of the 1950s, a fictional bunch of vigilantes with similar appearances and actions of the Batmen and Supermen we all know and love. After they started to get out of hand, what with taking the law into their owns hands and all, a law was passed banning all masked heroes from exacting their own criminal justice. So the practice died out.
We reach the 1980s, and the comic starts out with the murder of a certain famous man. The rest of the story is spent unravelling the situation and the huge plans behind his death. The latter involves some of the old masked heroes taking up their costumes again, for the supposed greater good.
As mentioned before, it's a highly symbolic work and touches on a lot of subjects including utilitarianism, criminal law, our place in the Universe, and man's imperfection.
The reason I'm bringing this comic up in my blog is because I watched its film adaptation last night. And it was really incredible. A definite 9/10 from me. I really reccommend reading the comic before you go see it - it will make the experience a lot more enjoyable. And it has a great soundtrack: the opening credits are particularly well done. The director, and everyone else involved, have done a great job keeping the film looking like a fantastic cross between reality and fiction, and the CGI character of Dr Manhattan (the blue guy above) has been integrated seamlessly amongst the real cast.
Go see it. You don't have to be a nerd to.
Watchmen is a highly critical and symbolic story that charts the decline of the 'masked heroes' of the 1950s, a fictional bunch of vigilantes with similar appearances and actions of the Batmen and Supermen we all know and love. After they started to get out of hand, what with taking the law into their owns hands and all, a law was passed banning all masked heroes from exacting their own criminal justice. So the practice died out.
We reach the 1980s, and the comic starts out with the murder of a certain famous man. The rest of the story is spent unravelling the situation and the huge plans behind his death. The latter involves some of the old masked heroes taking up their costumes again, for the supposed greater good.
As mentioned before, it's a highly symbolic work and touches on a lot of subjects including utilitarianism, criminal law, our place in the Universe, and man's imperfection.
The reason I'm bringing this comic up in my blog is because I watched its film adaptation last night. And it was really incredible. A definite 9/10 from me. I really reccommend reading the comic before you go see it - it will make the experience a lot more enjoyable. And it has a great soundtrack: the opening credits are particularly well done. The director, and everyone else involved, have done a great job keeping the film looking like a fantastic cross between reality and fiction, and the CGI character of Dr Manhattan (the blue guy above) has been integrated seamlessly amongst the real cast.
Go see it. You don't have to be a nerd to.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Fifth Floor Visions
Circling doves above the boughs.
I look again, a second glance.
The spinning wings belong to gulls.
Spiralling down to dying trees
on fading breaths of dwindling eddies.
They perch there on the twigs
and weigh them down and strip their leaves
to use them in their giant nests.
Three call to me in ancient tongues
and mock the rabbits in the brush.
They scare me,
make no sense at all.
I run to scatter
with my cries.
They fly to sea,
float on the waves,
and follow swell
like little buoys.
I look again, a second glance.
The spinning wings belong to gulls.
Spiralling down to dying trees
on fading breaths of dwindling eddies.
They perch there on the twigs
and weigh them down and strip their leaves
to use them in their giant nests.
Three call to me in ancient tongues
and mock the rabbits in the brush.
They scare me,
make no sense at all.
I run to scatter
with my cries.
They fly to sea,
float on the waves,
and follow swell
like little buoys.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
A note about why you, the Twitter user, are ridiculous
Do you really have to describe your life in one sentence every hour? Do you really feel the need to plague the internet with more information than the annoyingly unstoppable amount it's already incapable of dealing with? Do you have so little imagination that 140 characters (or whatever) contains your heartfelt emotions; or the descriptive horror of your 956th Boots meal deal; or the 10 reasons you hate your life? Do you have such a low cerebral capacity that you can't look up from your iPhone/Blackberry for one minute to survey your beautiful analogue surroundings? Do you feel part of a growing internet community despite the fact that the more time you spend at your computer, the more socially inept you become? Do you bum cats?
Yes. Yes, apparently you do.
Yes. Yes, apparently you do.
"Faith is the defeat of probability by possibility"
I'd like to share with you a recent editorial by Jonathan Sacks in The Times (28/02/09), that I found very thought-provoking. I'm very interested in the religious state of the UK, and the supposed uprising of atheism on the Dawkins bandwagon. I'm sure I'll bang on about it in many blog posts to come. Here it is:
"We owe a debt to the British Humanist Association for its advert on buses: “There’s probably no God.” It is thought-provoking in a helpful way, because it invites us to reflect not only on God but also on probability.
One of the discoveries of modern science is the sheer improbability of the Universe. It is shaped by six fundamental forces which, had they varied by an infinitesimal amount, the Universe would have expanded or imploded in such a way as to preclude the formation of stars. Unless we assume the existence of a million or trillion other universes (itself a large leap of faith), the fact that there is a universe at all is massively improbable.
So is the existence of life. Among the hundred billion galaxies, each with billions of stars, only one planet known to us, Earth, seems finely tuned for the emergence of life. And by what intermediate stages did non-life become life?
It’s a puzzle so improbable that Francis Crick was forced to argue that life was born somewhere else, Mars perhaps, and came here via meteorite, so making the mystery yet more mysterious.
How did life become sentient? And how did sentience grow to become self-consciousness, that strange gift, known only to Homo sapiens. So many improbabilities, Stephen J. Gould concluded, that if the process of evolution were run again from the beginning it is doubtful whether Homo sapiens would ever have been born.
You don’t have to be religious to have a sense of awe at the sheer improbability of things. A few weeks ago James le Fanu published a book Why Us?. In it he argues that we are about to undergo a paradigm shift in scientific understanding. The complexities of the genome, the emergence of the first multicellular life forms, the origins of Homo sapiens and our prodigiously enlarged brain: all these and more are too subtle to be accounted for on reductive, materialist, Darwinian science.
A week later Michael Brooks brought out 13 Things That Don’t Make Sense, the most important being human free will. The more science we learn, the more we understand how little we understand. The improbabilities keep multiplying, as does our cause for wonder.
And that’s just at the level of science. What about history? How probable is it that one man who performed no miracles and wielded no power, Abraham, would become the most influential figure who ever lived, with more than half of the six billion people alive today tracing their spiritual descent to him?
How probable is it that a tiny people, the children of Israel, known today as Jews, numbering less than a fifth of a per cent of the population of the world, would outlive every empire that sought its destruction? Or that a small, persecuted sect known as the Christians would one day become the largest movement of any kind in the world?
How probable is it that slavery would be abolished, that tyrannies would fall, that apartheid would end and that an African-American would be elected President of the US? Everything interesting in life, the Universe and the whole shebang is improbable, as Nicholas Taleb reminds us in The Black Swan, subtitled “The Impact of the Highly Improbable”. The book’s title is drawn from the fact that people were convinced that, since no one had ever seen a black swan, they did not exist — until someone discovered Australia.
One interesting improbability is that the man who invented probability theory, a brilliant young mathematician called Blaise Pascal, decided at the age of 30 to give up mathematics and science and devote the rest of his life to the exploration of religious faith.
Faith is the defeat of probability by the power of possibility. The prophets dreamt the improbable and by doing so helped to bring it about. All the great human achievements, in art and science as well as the life of the spirit, came through people who ignored the probable and had faith in the possible.
So the bus advertisement would be improved by a small amendment. Instead of saying “There’s probably no God”, it should read: “Improbably, there is a God”. "
"We owe a debt to the British Humanist Association for its advert on buses: “There’s probably no God.” It is thought-provoking in a helpful way, because it invites us to reflect not only on God but also on probability.
One of the discoveries of modern science is the sheer improbability of the Universe. It is shaped by six fundamental forces which, had they varied by an infinitesimal amount, the Universe would have expanded or imploded in such a way as to preclude the formation of stars. Unless we assume the existence of a million or trillion other universes (itself a large leap of faith), the fact that there is a universe at all is massively improbable.
So is the existence of life. Among the hundred billion galaxies, each with billions of stars, only one planet known to us, Earth, seems finely tuned for the emergence of life. And by what intermediate stages did non-life become life?
It’s a puzzle so improbable that Francis Crick was forced to argue that life was born somewhere else, Mars perhaps, and came here via meteorite, so making the mystery yet more mysterious.
How did life become sentient? And how did sentience grow to become self-consciousness, that strange gift, known only to Homo sapiens. So many improbabilities, Stephen J. Gould concluded, that if the process of evolution were run again from the beginning it is doubtful whether Homo sapiens would ever have been born.
You don’t have to be religious to have a sense of awe at the sheer improbability of things. A few weeks ago James le Fanu published a book Why Us?. In it he argues that we are about to undergo a paradigm shift in scientific understanding. The complexities of the genome, the emergence of the first multicellular life forms, the origins of Homo sapiens and our prodigiously enlarged brain: all these and more are too subtle to be accounted for on reductive, materialist, Darwinian science.
A week later Michael Brooks brought out 13 Things That Don’t Make Sense, the most important being human free will. The more science we learn, the more we understand how little we understand. The improbabilities keep multiplying, as does our cause for wonder.
And that’s just at the level of science. What about history? How probable is it that one man who performed no miracles and wielded no power, Abraham, would become the most influential figure who ever lived, with more than half of the six billion people alive today tracing their spiritual descent to him?
How probable is it that a tiny people, the children of Israel, known today as Jews, numbering less than a fifth of a per cent of the population of the world, would outlive every empire that sought its destruction? Or that a small, persecuted sect known as the Christians would one day become the largest movement of any kind in the world?
How probable is it that slavery would be abolished, that tyrannies would fall, that apartheid would end and that an African-American would be elected President of the US? Everything interesting in life, the Universe and the whole shebang is improbable, as Nicholas Taleb reminds us in The Black Swan, subtitled “The Impact of the Highly Improbable”. The book’s title is drawn from the fact that people were convinced that, since no one had ever seen a black swan, they did not exist — until someone discovered Australia.
One interesting improbability is that the man who invented probability theory, a brilliant young mathematician called Blaise Pascal, decided at the age of 30 to give up mathematics and science and devote the rest of his life to the exploration of religious faith.
Faith is the defeat of probability by the power of possibility. The prophets dreamt the improbable and by doing so helped to bring it about. All the great human achievements, in art and science as well as the life of the spirit, came through people who ignored the probable and had faith in the possible.
So the bus advertisement would be improved by a small amendment. Instead of saying “There’s probably no God”, it should read: “Improbably, there is a God”. "
Review: The World Is Not Flat - Self titled EP
Thanks to a few of my friends (who I love very much), I stumbled upon this incredible little English-American man-woman folk duo that recently recorded an EP with Oxford-based indie label Jam Jar records (http://jamjarrecords.co.uk/). I'm not a pretentious pitchfork media reviwer, so I'll try and keep this summary to an enjoyable minimum.
The record opens with 'Sixth Borough', a beautiful harmony-woven piece that conjures up the best of what you would imagine New York to be: leafy parks and rich tower buildings fixed into their aged grids, enlivened with the occasional peace that the city gets on one of its days off. Plinky acoustics lead us through the city and on to another famous city in 'Baker Street Station'.
The couple provide a small change in direction as they sing 'Earlgreylavender', a more intimate song, revealing relationships behind these enigmatic voices.
'Name' is probably the weakest on the 8-track EP, but it leads into 'The World is Not Flat', a sumptuous, if slightly cliched slice of Americana, that probably wouldn't feel out of place under SubPop.
Definitely the most moving, and most musically and lyrically inspired, song is 'Paradox', that gives us the wonderful
I've been saying that I love you for so long
and I'm wondering if it's dark that comes with the dawn.
This morning rooster keeps on crowing on and on and on
and I've been saying that I love you for so long.
We're then taken through the (unfortunately brief) 'Forest', to reach the swansong of the EP, 'Birdhouses', providing fruity, natural backing noise to complement another bout of haunting, airy female vocals.
A definite 4.5/5. I've not heard a better EP this year, but hey - nothing's perfect.
You can have a listen to some of it here: http://www.last.fm/music/The+World+Is+Not+Flat
love tom
The record opens with 'Sixth Borough', a beautiful harmony-woven piece that conjures up the best of what you would imagine New York to be: leafy parks and rich tower buildings fixed into their aged grids, enlivened with the occasional peace that the city gets on one of its days off. Plinky acoustics lead us through the city and on to another famous city in 'Baker Street Station'.
The couple provide a small change in direction as they sing 'Earlgreylavender', a more intimate song, revealing relationships behind these enigmatic voices.
'Name' is probably the weakest on the 8-track EP, but it leads into 'The World is Not Flat', a sumptuous, if slightly cliched slice of Americana, that probably wouldn't feel out of place under SubPop.
Definitely the most moving, and most musically and lyrically inspired, song is 'Paradox', that gives us the wonderful
I've been saying that I love you for so long
and I'm wondering if it's dark that comes with the dawn.
This morning rooster keeps on crowing on and on and on
and I've been saying that I love you for so long.
We're then taken through the (unfortunately brief) 'Forest', to reach the swansong of the EP, 'Birdhouses', providing fruity, natural backing noise to complement another bout of haunting, airy female vocals.
A definite 4.5/5. I've not heard a better EP this year, but hey - nothing's perfect.
You can have a listen to some of it here: http://www.last.fm/music/The+World+Is+Not+Flat
love tom
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