An Atheist Christmas (Cuttlefish Classic)

We’ll all open presents, and cook a big dinner,
And share in traditions we learned long ago
But Christmas is different for this humble sinner,
No “birth of the saviour”, just people we know.

It has nothing to do with a babe in a manger
Or kings being led by a star up above,
But rather in family, friend, and in stranger,
In kindnesses done for the people we love.

A spirit of hope, and a spirit of giving,
A promise of peace in a troubling day,
A chance to examine the way we are living–
The courage to say what we’ve wanted to say.

You don’t need to think there’s a god up above you
To want to be good to your fellows on Earth.
To give to your friends, and to tell them “I love you”
Has nothing to do with some son of god’s birth.

For love, and for giving, we say “tis the season”
For caring, for kindness, for sharing good cheer
But why limit ourselves? I mean, what is the reason?
Why can’t we be giving the rest of the year?

This Christmas, my wish for each sister and brother,
To you, and to everyone you may hold dear;
Remember, this Christmas, to love one another—
Not only this season, but all through the year!

******

So today, Cuttlefamily got our tree. Many changes since last year–it was nice to be able to take a dog along again, but of course that was a potent reminder of the last few (declining) years of our poor old pooch. The energy in a young dog is a wonderful thing, especially a dog that reeeeeeeeaaaaaaalllly likes snow. It was significantly below freezing, and I had misjudged the depth of the snow at the place where we went, so my shoes filled with snow as I broke through the crust every 5 or 6 steps or so. Friends from different areas of the world appear greatly amused that we not only have a real tree (as opposed to an artificial one), but that we cut our own. It is one of the wonderful rituals of the season and something the kids, now both in college, see as a quintessential part of life.

Anyway, it put me in a good, but very contemplative, mood, so I thought I’d repost some of my older Christmas verses, now that I have more people reading than in previous years. Happy holidays, all of you, or just happy moments.

Gotta go–time for the traditional untangling of wadded up strands of christmas lights.

Could A Comic Book Save Your Soul?

If you ask about science in science class
Could a comic book save your soul?
If you like to smoke a little grass
Could a comic book save your soul?
If you’d like to try to cast a spell,
If you’ve killed a man, and you’re in a cell,
You’re a breath away from a trip to Hell–
Could a comic book save your soul?

If you’re Catholic, Muslim, Witch, or Jew
Could a comic book save your soul?
If there is no God, according to you
Could a comic book save your soul?
If you like to listen to Metal bands,
If you do your thinking with your glans,
If you don’t do all that God demands
Could a comic book save your soul?

If you’re curious while attending church
Could a comic book save your soul?
Are there pamphlets there, to help your search?
Could a comic book save your soul?
There’s a little screed, by Jack T. Chick
It will make you laugh; it will make you sick,
But it just might make your brain go… *click*…
Could a comic book save your soul?

I remember these. I still find them, left in restaurants, or classrooms, or the library. I always take them; better me than their intended audience. As a kid, I must have seen some of the very first of these (the site says they have been produced for “over 40 years”, but not how much over; I’d have been on the leading edge, anyway) in church, and remember seeing his version of Judgment–my life, on the big screen, with the whole earth’s population privy to my deepest thoughts… which, at that early adolescent time, were impure.

Here’s to ya, Jack. From one that got away.

My Cephalopodmas Present To You

I should have done this long ago, but for the unfortunate fact that I am an idiot. Anyway, you have probably forgotten all about the two buttons over there to the right that lead to Lulu and to where you can buy my books. (Still sounds strange in the plural.) I have, as my present to you, just figured out that I can give you the downloadable version for free. So now, that is how both books are set (my apologies to those wonderful people who already paid for a download of Vol. 1. No such apologies are needed as yet for Vol. 2.), and I encourage you to click on over and grab yourself a copy of each. It will be slightly more convenient than printing out the entire blog, although the books don’t contain any of my commentary–just the verse.

If you like, then, you can just print out a copy of a particular verse to tape anonymously to someone’s door, or stuff in the church mailbox, or try to pass off as your own. If you really like, you can then buy a copy for Uncle Sid or Cousin Mildred or that weird neighbor down the street, and (at least as of this writing) it will get to you in time for squidmas. And if you feel guilty, there is the tip jar, also over there to the right–but I expect no squid pro quo; the free downloads are indeed my gift to you.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to grading…

To all of my readers, from me,
There’s a present for under your tree
Just a PDF file
That might make you smile–
The important part is: it’s for free!

(let me know if it isn’t showing as free. It ought to be, but I never was good with computers, so if it could be screwed up, it likely is.)

Atheism 6.2

I found the following drifting lazily down through an eddy in the time-space continuum…

In Atheism 6.2
The features that we add for you
Revise the changes we’d begun
In 5.5 through 6.1

In 5.5 through 5.7
Metaphors of hell and heaven
Were allowed, but pearly gates
Were strictly seen as 5.8’s

You must remember 5.9,
In which we said communion wine
Was for the first time “good to go”
(We took it back in 6.0.)

But frankly, wine was lots of fun,
So just as quickly, 6.1
Restored the wine, now 6.2
Allows us cheese and crackers, too.

But wine and crackers, even cheeses
Are not blood, nor flesh of Jesus,
(Once, of course, we called it true,
But that was version 4.2.)

Accomodationism maths
Makes some folks mad as psychopaths
They rant and rave like total jerks
And say “The beta version works!”

It has no bugs; it needs no mods,
It’s simply “no belief in gods”
But whiny people soon complained,
So changes soon were entertained

The purists say it came undone
As early on as 1.1
Which left believers free to claim
That “God” was “Nature’s other name”

Before you knew it, 1.3
Included “spirituality”
From there, by pieces, fits, and starts,
The later versions hit the charts

I wonder, what could be in store
For 6.3 and 6.4.
So pick your fave, and start a schism.
One thing it’s not… is atheism.

Context? Sure… PZ writes about Atheism 3.0… He terms it “Atheist, but…”. I much prefer “Atheist and“. Not “atheist and spiritual”, that would be an example of an “atheist but”. I prefer “Atheist and versemonger”, or “atheist and dad” or “atheist and late for dinner”. Not an atheism that has to be blended with religion or spirituality or anything else, but atheism that is perfectly well defined, now what else are you?

I Am The Bishop

I am the Bishop, the moral authority,
The good of my flock is my highest priority
Unless (or until) there’s a Shepherd accused,
And a lamb from my flock is among the abused.

I am the Bishop; to me they will come,
Both Shepherd and Sheep (because people are dumb)
I’m trusted to do what is just, what is right,
To head off a scandal, and keep things from sight.

I am the Bishop; the power is mine,
The law is of earth, but the issue’s divine
It’s morally righteous to hide the report,
And to fight and appeal when they take us to court.

I am the Bishop. The transcripts disclosed
I created a smokescreen when duly deposed;
I watched for my shepherds, and helped them escape
From those cruel allegations of beatings and rape.

I am the Bishop—Archbishop, New York;
I won’t admit shame, like in Dublin or Cork,
Here, cases are fewer, convictions are less—
It’s to me, not the cops, to whom Shepherds confess!

I am the Bishop, so I can forgive—
They’ll surely be punished, but not while they live.
The civil authorities think it’s a scam
But I am the Bishop; I don’t give a damn

I am the Bishop; I’ll sink straight to Hell,
With most of my Shepherds beside me, as well,
Where Satan’s the judge; no one grants an appeal…
But I am the Bishop. I know it’s not real.

A very depressing editorial in the New York Times today speaks of Bishop Egan, the moral authority who did his job protecting his abusive priests.

In the end it was not the power of repentance or compassion that compelled the Roman Catholic Diocese of Bridgeport, Conn., to release more than 12,000 pages of documents relating to lawsuits alleging decades of sexual abuse of children by its priests.

It was a court order.

That immoral, secular court stepped in when the Bishop’s Christian conscience failed to motivate him.

The most moving portion compares Egan’s [lack of] response to the clear message (to some, still inadequate, but that may simply be a reflection of the enormity of the sins involved) delivered in Ireland under similar circumstances:

Absent in those pages is a sense of understanding of the true scope of the tragedy. Compare Bishop Egan’s words with those of the archbishop of Dublin, Diarmuid Martin, who, after the release of a recent report detailing years of abuse and cover-ups in Ireland, said:

“The sexual abuse of a child is and always was a crime in civil law; it is and always was a crime in canon law; it is and always was grievously sinful. One of the most heartbreaking aspects of the report is that while church leaders — bishops and religious superiors — failed, almost every parent who came to the diocese to report abuse clearly understood the awfulness of what was involved.”

Bishop Egan, with institutional pride, looks at the relatively low rate of proven abuse cases as a sort of perverse accomplishment.

“It’s marvelous,” he said, “when you think of the hundreds and hundreds of priests and how very few have even been accused, and how very few have even come close to having anyone prove anything.”

By Request…

Ok, this is not The Book, but there is no way that The Book (with actual chapters, illustrations, commentary and such) could possibly be ready in time for anyone to order it for Squidmas. I really wish it could be, but I am much too swamped with Real Life.

So this is The Digital Cuttlefish, Vol. 2, which is merely the stuff I have written (well, lots of it, anyway–I did not include literally everything) in the year since Vol. 1 came out. I put this one out (in a hurry) because of a couple of requests, so that people could give it to friends (or enemies, I suppose) for the holidays. It does have some of my very favorites in it, and I must admit it was great fun revisiting the year as I rushed to put this together. Volume 1 is still available, too, of course. If Lulu has a way of doing a package deal, I’d be glad to put one together and save you some money.

I wouldn’t blame you a bit if you waited for the deluxe edition, but there is no way it will be out before the new year, and perhaps well into that.

Oh, yeah, it might help if I gave you a link:
Support independent publishing: Buy this book on Lulu.

Heh… boy, do I know how to write an ad…

For H. M.

My day goes by in bits and pieces,
The crossword puzzle, conversations,
Doctors asking, running tests;
They seem to know me; I don’t know how.
And who is that old man in the mirror?

My day goes by as days do, I suppose,
I watch TV, play bingo, read…
Today the crossword is very easy!
I don’t remember when I moved here—
And who is that old man in the mirror?

My day – I don’t recall yesterday—
A pleasant day, with pleasant friends,
I know my way through this house,
But I do not remember moving here,
And who is that old man in the mirror?

My day goes by in one-act plays
Old plots forgotten with the new,
I never know the actors’ names—
Each one is nice enough, it seems;
But who is that old man in the mirror?

Today, I’m feeling very tired;
I don’t know why—I’m much too young
To stiffly walk, to ache to move—
I must have worked hard yesterday.
I feel like that old man in the mirror.

As I write this, they are finishing up (just a couple more hours, perhaps!) the sectioning of the brain of H. M.. Henry Molaison, known to biology and psychology students everywhere as “H. M.”, is perhaps the single most famous patient in history. Perhaps. He was studied for over half a century, from when he underwent psychosurgery in 1953 to alleviate epileptic convulsions, until his death last year. Henry had an extreme case of anterograde amnesia–the inability to form new episodic memories. He could learn new tasks, but would not know that he had learned them (his performance surprised himself!). He taught us, or allowed us to learn, more about how remembering works than we had ever suspected before. Abilities we thought as single were exposed as many parallel abilities, and not always the neat splits our introspective accounts may have predicted. (that may not be expressed well. It is late.)

His story has moved me more than I would have expected. I have written verse from the point of view of gods, but I cannot wrap my head around what Henry’s life was like. I don’t know that I would want to.

Anyway, if you follow the link above, you will see that they are looking for money. The goal is to make H.M.’s brain available to everybody–an atlas of the most studied brain in history. This is expensive. If you have any money left over after you have donated generously to my tip jar (fortunately, I am channeling H. M., and will not remember having written that), you should consider sponsoring some brain slides. And, just for practice, try imagining that you are living Henry’s life. If you can get a handle on it, drop a note and let me know what it is like. I just can’t do it.

The Digital Pack-Rat, volume 21

It is, as it always is this time of year, approaching the ragged end of the semester. I am inundated with grading, so it is time to collect the detritus of blog comments, assemble them together, and pretend to post. If I find the time, I may come back and actually add links, but not now!

Also, I know the last “pack rat” post was #19. So was the one before it, so this #21 is the proper number.

Re: Uganda’s proposal to execute HIV-positive individuals, and impose life imprisonment sentences on gays.

It may seem cruel; it may seem strange,
These cold, barbaric tactics.
But think of all the souls thus saved
From using prophylactics!

We could be wrong; perhaps we purge
And yet the virus stays–
At least we’re doing something, right?
And what the hell, they’re gays.

Re: the Deep Rifts in atheism–

The thing about atheist creatures
Is, we’re willing to challenge our teachers;
Don’t call it a schism,
It’s mere criticism:
These things, they’re not bugs–these are features.

Re: a Godwinization of evolution…

Your misattribution claims mean evolution
As sole inspiration for Hitler;
What poor execution! Its small contribution
Could probably not have been littler!

Religion’s pollution, and claimed persecution,
Contributed more, don’t you know?
The right institution to grant absolution
And Hitler was ready to go!

Re: the eating of live cephalopods (!)

I’ll admit there are meals that have certain appeals,
And some, I should say, that excite me.
But if any here wish a live cuttlefish dish…
Bite me.

Re: creationist logic and middle fingers—

Stupidity lingers; we see it in fingers,
Which clearly could not be descended from fins!
They’re perfect, and Godly, and from this we oddly
Conclude that the myth of the goatherders wins!

And of course, the return of the son of the bride of… Wafergate.

Desecration of a cracker is uncivil disobedience
The son of god, remember, is the whole of its ingredients!
You tried to make a point, but with unsuitable expedience–
It was your right, but surely you were wrong!

The epitome of sacred, you reduced to mere profanity;
One wonders if you’ve kept the merest sliver of humanity!
You’re clearly out of touch with any form of christianity,
As on the road to hell you trot along!

Our point of view is crystal-clear; our pithy editorial
Accuses you of crimes unseen since time long immemorial,
Perhaps the worst since humankind first ceased to be arboreal
Or since the first prokaryotic cell!

And so, Professor Myers, I will say with all sincerity
In case you choose to sin like this with any regularity,
I wish you strength and perseverance, boldness and temerity–
You’ll need it, cos you’re going straight to hell!

No God? No Problem!

I’ve got absolute truths by the dozens
They depend on the god that you cite
And, my brothers and sisters and cousins,
I have to decide which is right.

Each claims their morality’s better
They’re divinely inspired, you see;
So I’d follow their laws to the letter,
Except that they all disagree.

Whenever I look to the bible
To see how a person behaves
I can trust that the info’s reliable,
Like how I should punish my slaves.

I don’t wish to be petty or selfish
I just want to know I am right
Is it worse to be gay, or eat shellfish?
Both are wrong, in Leviticus’ sight.

Is it sinful to kill and eat cattle?
Well, the Hindus, of course, would agree
But then, kosher’s a whole different battle,
Although bacon tastes yummy to me!

I’ve got absolute truths if you want ‘em
Each according to different gods
Some keep them, and others will flaunt ‘em
But you’re breaking some rules, say the odds.

When religions make war over quarrels,
And they claim that their god is the source
Can a person have humanist morals?
Of Course!

Context: USA Today story (along with comment thread–you might want to join in!) about the new holiday ads by the humanists. Another round of “be good for goodness’ sake!”, which might as well be “your Virgin Mary wears army boots!”, for the reaction it’s getting.

Galileo! Galileo!


Galileo’s middle finger. Appropriately.

The mystery no longer lingers:
Found, at last, two missing fingers.
They both belonged, as did one tooth,
To Galileo. That’s the truth.

The heretic had made a fuss
Supporting old Copernicus;
The Earth, he said, each year will run
An orbit ’round our yellow sun;

A statement, in The Church’s sight,
That could not possibly be right–
So Galileo swore he lied,
And nine years later, up and died.

Nine decades later, scientists
With strange things on their “must do” lists
Removed some fingers, teeth, and bones,
Then laid him back beneath the stones.

For years, his parts, though very old,
Were bartered, traded, bought and sold,
Until, in nineteen-hundred five,
Expected parts did not arrive.

The trading, then, went underground—
Until this year. Now, they’ve been found!
Next year, his fans may go and see ‘em
At Florence’s History of Science Museum.

The Beeb reports that… well, honestly, it’s best in their words:

Two fingers and a tooth belonging to famed astronomer Galileo Galilei have been found more than 100 years after going missing, a museum in Italy says.

A collector bought the items, lost since 1905, at auction and gave them to Florence’s History of Science Museum.
The museum said it had no doubt about the authenticity of the items.

Scientists cut the parts – plus another finger and a vertebrae – from Galileo’s body in 1737, almost 100 years after he died.

So… in honor of Galileo (and inconsistent with the title of this post), a music video. I never quite got the “degrees of separation” bit–but I am friends with the sister (and her husband) of the author and performer of this particular “Galileo”. (I’d embed it, but they have requested not to. Go. Click. It’s a few years old, but it’s worth it.)