A friend a few weeks ago asked me to send them evidence that evolution wasn't real, and that creation is. After delving into the subject on wikipedia (I know, not the most accurate source), I've noticed that virtually everyone has a different theory. That's probably what makes it so hard for them evolutionists.
So I'm tempted to write out what I believe here, and then maybe all you readers can tell me whether I'm totally out in left field, or whether it makes some decent sense; and also, what you believe. (Alright, maybe tempted is the wrong word, seeing as I'm actually doing it.)
I believe that God created the world in six days, then rested on the 7th. I also believe that the Earth existed before creation--without form, and void--for God had to kick the evil angels somewhere, did He not?
I am a subscriber to the "Omphalos Hypothesis:" that is, that God created trees with rings, people with belly buttons, and rocks with "age." I do not, however, believe that all my memories of anything before 10 days ago are part of God's creation of me (and therefore never really happened)--I know and remember experiencing both them and the time they occurred in.
I believe that all dogs descended from a common pair of dogs; all seagulls from a common gull; and so forth--in other words, in microevolution. But until someone can show me evidence of a drastic mutation/change resulting in a brand new species, I cannot accept macroevolution.
All this I believe because I believe there is a God. Too much has happened to me in my life for me to rationally believe otherwise.
Am I certain that this is the way things happened? No. God could certainly have done it another way--but He has chosen to hide His ways from us for now (save Genesis 1 & 2), and when a more powerful Being chooses to hide, no one with less power is going to find Him.
"It's not the results that change us--it's the effort."
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Sizzle
It's hot outside. Really, really hot outside. And since there's no air conditioning in the house, it's also hot inside.
I'm almost tempted to go turn on the car, and sit in it with the air conditioner on. Key word is "almost."
Anyone else find it ironic that the way we counteract global warming in our everyday lives--air conditioning--also happens to be one of the most power-draining appliances in the home--and electrical generation is one of the biggest causes of global warming today?
My Dad picked me up from work yesterday. As he put it, it's too hot to take a bus home today. I'm sure that car ride will ensure that next summer is an average of 0.00000001 degrees hotter.
Reminds me of the time I was sitting in my dorm room with my roommate, with sweltering temperatures outside, and I was tempted to leave the refridgerator door open in order to cool the room. Hopefully, you all realize that a refridgerator works simply by taking the heat inside, and pumping it into the coils at the back. Well, isn't that how air conditioning works? We take heat inside the house, and pump it outside. Therefore, the rise of air conditioners is what's causing global warming--all the heat from inside our homes has been pumped out into the atmosphere, where we get baked on our way to work every day.
Such a fitting end for the one who became master of the jungle through learning the art of fire.
"And the fourth angel poured out his vial upon the sun; and power was given unto him to scorch men with fire." (Revelation 16:8)
I'm almost tempted to go turn on the car, and sit in it with the air conditioner on. Key word is "almost."
Anyone else find it ironic that the way we counteract global warming in our everyday lives--air conditioning--also happens to be one of the most power-draining appliances in the home--and electrical generation is one of the biggest causes of global warming today?
My Dad picked me up from work yesterday. As he put it, it's too hot to take a bus home today. I'm sure that car ride will ensure that next summer is an average of 0.00000001 degrees hotter.
Reminds me of the time I was sitting in my dorm room with my roommate, with sweltering temperatures outside, and I was tempted to leave the refridgerator door open in order to cool the room. Hopefully, you all realize that a refridgerator works simply by taking the heat inside, and pumping it into the coils at the back. Well, isn't that how air conditioning works? We take heat inside the house, and pump it outside. Therefore, the rise of air conditioners is what's causing global warming--all the heat from inside our homes has been pumped out into the atmosphere, where we get baked on our way to work every day.
Such a fitting end for the one who became master of the jungle through learning the art of fire.
"And the fourth angel poured out his vial upon the sun; and power was given unto him to scorch men with fire." (Revelation 16:8)
Friday, June 22, 2007
Monday, June 18, 2007
Democracy of the Mind
I was laying in bed pondering the recent Palestinian crisis and the state of my mind, among other things, when the following line struck me:
"My mind is a democracy of brain cells."
It's so wonderful, isn't it?
I have various factions in my mind that take control and cede power from time to time. They annoy me. At least, the ones I don't like. I prefer to think that I have a consistent president that remains in office as the rest of government shifts from day to day and hour to hour, a president that maintains veto as long as congress doesn't get a 67% majority. But I fear that even that is changable.
And just like real democracy, new administrations always try to undo the moves of the previous administration, thus getting the government as a whole absolutely nowhere over the long run.
There's never a consensus--always a party, a number in opposition, of varying size and strength. Sometimes it wavers near the 50-50 mark, so that it seems that I am a waffler, constantly changing my position. Really, it isn't me--it's the voices in my head. Which are technically a part of me. But I'm viewing my brain from the third person right now, so it isn't actually a part of me (apparently).
The really fun part about democracy is when a minority gets so enraged with the direction of the body as a whole that they declare civil war, just like in Palestine. Just pray you aren't doing anything important when times like that hit.
I suppose that, to look at this "democracy of the mind" idea from various political perspectives, Conservatives would believe in a strong central government that quashes or ignores minority dissenting opinions to that of the majority. Liberals would believe in a pluralistic democracy, where all viewpoints no matter how contradictory are worthy of being held. Communists would believe in a democracy where all political opinions are equally valuable as long as they pass the censorship office. And Fascists? All dissenting opinions from the currently in power faction are crushed, ignored, and censored, while the minority that is in power attempts to fool itself with its own propaganda.
When faced with such a diverse democracy as this, with such harsh consequences for stepping off the road, the only safe solution is to follow whatever path leads furthest away from civil war. That is, to appease each side according to its strength, so that each is pacified long enough to have peace. Ignorance is bliss.
"No, I'm not really schizo. Not anymore than you are, anyways."
P.S. To answer an earlier question from a previous blog post, no, you cannot believe a lie you intentionally created to fool yourself. To put it another way, you cannot outsmart yourself, because you will never have greater mental capacity than yourself in any single present tense.
"My mind is a democracy of brain cells."
It's so wonderful, isn't it?
I have various factions in my mind that take control and cede power from time to time. They annoy me. At least, the ones I don't like. I prefer to think that I have a consistent president that remains in office as the rest of government shifts from day to day and hour to hour, a president that maintains veto as long as congress doesn't get a 67% majority. But I fear that even that is changable.
And just like real democracy, new administrations always try to undo the moves of the previous administration, thus getting the government as a whole absolutely nowhere over the long run.
There's never a consensus--always a party, a number in opposition, of varying size and strength. Sometimes it wavers near the 50-50 mark, so that it seems that I am a waffler, constantly changing my position. Really, it isn't me--it's the voices in my head. Which are technically a part of me. But I'm viewing my brain from the third person right now, so it isn't actually a part of me (apparently).
The really fun part about democracy is when a minority gets so enraged with the direction of the body as a whole that they declare civil war, just like in Palestine. Just pray you aren't doing anything important when times like that hit.
I suppose that, to look at this "democracy of the mind" idea from various political perspectives, Conservatives would believe in a strong central government that quashes or ignores minority dissenting opinions to that of the majority. Liberals would believe in a pluralistic democracy, where all viewpoints no matter how contradictory are worthy of being held. Communists would believe in a democracy where all political opinions are equally valuable as long as they pass the censorship office. And Fascists? All dissenting opinions from the currently in power faction are crushed, ignored, and censored, while the minority that is in power attempts to fool itself with its own propaganda.
When faced with such a diverse democracy as this, with such harsh consequences for stepping off the road, the only safe solution is to follow whatever path leads furthest away from civil war. That is, to appease each side according to its strength, so that each is pacified long enough to have peace. Ignorance is bliss.
"No, I'm not really schizo. Not anymore than you are, anyways."
P.S. To answer an earlier question from a previous blog post, no, you cannot believe a lie you intentionally created to fool yourself. To put it another way, you cannot outsmart yourself, because you will never have greater mental capacity than yourself in any single present tense.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Travelling Stories
Yes, yes, I know: I'm cursed as a traveller.
This time the trip home from school wasn't actually so bad. (Though it's the Christmas vacation stories that always take the cake.)
I got a ride from a friend from Walla Walla to Tacoma. I was only one hour late this time, as opposed to the times past, when I actually missed a greyhound bus. On the way there, the driver got lost for an hour. (Hence, why this friend remains unnamed.) After we got to their place, I stayed for two days (as the next day was Sabbath)--and I should add that they were so kind as to let me stay.
I went to the Greyhound station in Tacoma on Sunday morning. The one bag they weighed was 11 pounds overweight, which cost me $20 extra. They didn't weigh the other because they didn't believe it could be over. (I'm laughing at them, right now.)
Got on the bus, and then I misplaced my ticket from Seattle to Vancouver. I panicked, until I got to Seattle, and got off the bus, at which point it fell to the ground. After we departed Seattle, a lady in the back started talking in a loud, hoarse, scratchy voice on a cell phone, so loudly the rest of the bus fell silent. She said something to the effect of "I just came from Vegas (Vegas, baby!), I got so drunk, I love you, I was just at a bar, drank several Vodkas, some guy helped me carry my bags to this station, he was awesome, I'm so hammered right now, I can't wait to see you." Half the bus was waiting for the driver to kick her off, and the other half was trying really hard not to laugh.
Once in Vancouver, I realized I'd left my ticket confirmation number in Walla Walla. And the airline, departure time, etc. So I phoned home and got my brother and sister, to whom I had to give my email address and password so they could look it up for me. It took 35 minutes, but they finally got it to me--and the flight was departing in 2 and a half hours.
So I grabbed all five of my bags and took the SkyTrain (subway) and a city bus to the airport. The bus driver was really patient with me, I must add. No further comment, except that I broke a strap on one bag, and currently have bruises on my collarbones and neck from the exertion.
At the airport, I weighed the first bag, my blue "carry-on" roller, and it came out to 56 pounds. The ticket lady replied "That's impressive. How did you manage that?" The next bag, from which I'd removed a number of books because it cost me $20 on the Greyhound, came out to 61 pounds. She was nice and let it slide. I'm sure I owe her a lot. Especially as I got to the gate 15 minutes before boarding.
I slept 30 minutes on the night plane. Spent 50 minutes waiting at the airport for my Mom to arrive to pick me up, because of traffic to the airport. We stopped at a music store on the way home, and when we got out, the battery was dead, and the hood wouldn't open. An hour and a half of waiting later, the mechanic boosted us, and we were back on our way home, where I arrived at noon on Monday.
Overall, not a bad trip. A lot of things could have happened a lot worse. I know from experience.
"That's impressive. How did you manage that?"
This time the trip home from school wasn't actually so bad. (Though it's the Christmas vacation stories that always take the cake.)
I got a ride from a friend from Walla Walla to Tacoma. I was only one hour late this time, as opposed to the times past, when I actually missed a greyhound bus. On the way there, the driver got lost for an hour. (Hence, why this friend remains unnamed.) After we got to their place, I stayed for two days (as the next day was Sabbath)--and I should add that they were so kind as to let me stay.
I went to the Greyhound station in Tacoma on Sunday morning. The one bag they weighed was 11 pounds overweight, which cost me $20 extra. They didn't weigh the other because they didn't believe it could be over. (I'm laughing at them, right now.)
Got on the bus, and then I misplaced my ticket from Seattle to Vancouver. I panicked, until I got to Seattle, and got off the bus, at which point it fell to the ground. After we departed Seattle, a lady in the back started talking in a loud, hoarse, scratchy voice on a cell phone, so loudly the rest of the bus fell silent. She said something to the effect of "I just came from Vegas (Vegas, baby!), I got so drunk, I love you, I was just at a bar, drank several Vodkas, some guy helped me carry my bags to this station, he was awesome, I'm so hammered right now, I can't wait to see you." Half the bus was waiting for the driver to kick her off, and the other half was trying really hard not to laugh.
Once in Vancouver, I realized I'd left my ticket confirmation number in Walla Walla. And the airline, departure time, etc. So I phoned home and got my brother and sister, to whom I had to give my email address and password so they could look it up for me. It took 35 minutes, but they finally got it to me--and the flight was departing in 2 and a half hours.
So I grabbed all five of my bags and took the SkyTrain (subway) and a city bus to the airport. The bus driver was really patient with me, I must add. No further comment, except that I broke a strap on one bag, and currently have bruises on my collarbones and neck from the exertion.
At the airport, I weighed the first bag, my blue "carry-on" roller, and it came out to 56 pounds. The ticket lady replied "That's impressive. How did you manage that?" The next bag, from which I'd removed a number of books because it cost me $20 on the Greyhound, came out to 61 pounds. She was nice and let it slide. I'm sure I owe her a lot. Especially as I got to the gate 15 minutes before boarding.
I slept 30 minutes on the night plane. Spent 50 minutes waiting at the airport for my Mom to arrive to pick me up, because of traffic to the airport. We stopped at a music store on the way home, and when we got out, the battery was dead, and the hood wouldn't open. An hour and a half of waiting later, the mechanic boosted us, and we were back on our way home, where I arrived at noon on Monday.
Overall, not a bad trip. A lot of things could have happened a lot worse. I know from experience.
"That's impressive. How did you manage that?"
Friday, June 8, 2007
I Despise Moving
I really do. I have to pack up everything I own; decide to part with a number of items that have emotional, if not physical value; and change my home, with all the upheaval that brings.
But most of all, I'm paranoid. Paranoid that I'll lose something that wasn't meant to be lost in the packing and sorting process. Paranoid that I won't be able to replace it once it's gone; that I'll be scarred forever by the loss.
It's a little irrational, really. I can always find something to fill all of my needs, even if it lacks the emotional value that the previous item carry. But all things grow old and worn out, and eventually need replacing.
Plus, the development of a comfort zone isn't supposed to be something I'm trying to do. When Jesus comes again, am I really going to be waiting with a wagonload of stuff that has too much emotional value to leave on Earth to burn?
Maybe it's just the anticipation of loss that bothers me. As they say, the anticipation of something is much greater than the event itself. Generally speaking, of course. But I think it applies here. If I was told now that my kindergarten paintings had been accidentally thrown out, it probably wouldn't bother me. But if I was told that they were about to be thrown out, I think I would protest greatly, and do what I could to intervene.
At any rate, I'm anticipating a few more hours of packing tonight--and I'm dreading that. My back is already in pain from the anticipated exertion.
"Young children seem to thrive better under a system which has at least a skeletal outline of rigidity, in which there is a schedule of a kind, some sort of routine, something that can be counted upon, not only for the present but far into the future." (Abraham Maslow)
But most of all, I'm paranoid. Paranoid that I'll lose something that wasn't meant to be lost in the packing and sorting process. Paranoid that I won't be able to replace it once it's gone; that I'll be scarred forever by the loss.
It's a little irrational, really. I can always find something to fill all of my needs, even if it lacks the emotional value that the previous item carry. But all things grow old and worn out, and eventually need replacing.
Plus, the development of a comfort zone isn't supposed to be something I'm trying to do. When Jesus comes again, am I really going to be waiting with a wagonload of stuff that has too much emotional value to leave on Earth to burn?
Maybe it's just the anticipation of loss that bothers me. As they say, the anticipation of something is much greater than the event itself. Generally speaking, of course. But I think it applies here. If I was told now that my kindergarten paintings had been accidentally thrown out, it probably wouldn't bother me. But if I was told that they were about to be thrown out, I think I would protest greatly, and do what I could to intervene.
At any rate, I'm anticipating a few more hours of packing tonight--and I'm dreading that. My back is already in pain from the anticipated exertion.
"Young children seem to thrive better under a system which has at least a skeletal outline of rigidity, in which there is a schedule of a kind, some sort of routine, something that can be counted upon, not only for the present but far into the future." (Abraham Maslow)
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Thoughts on ADD
I'm going to go ahead and theorize something that's probably controversial and against every Psychology textbook out there.
ADD isn't a disease. It is an addiction to stimulation.
Should it be a wonder that no one had ever heard of ADD a hundred years ago, yet now it is so prevalent that as many as half of my friends claim to have it to some degree? And should it be a coincidence that this is happening in the most stimulating age in human history?
People need to take a break, so that they are capable of extracting meaning and pleasure from the simpler things in this world. They really do. It shouldn't be necessary for commercials to start off with a bang and a flash just to get your attention.
To test this theory, I'd like to see some Psychologist out there begin treating ADD children as if they were addicted to something, as opposed to them having a disease and needing to take Ritalin or another form of drug. I dare say this would be far more effective than what is already being tried.
Maybe I'm just some ignorant blogger who knows nothing about psychology or counselling, and doesn't care about all the poor little children. But you can't tell me this idea hasn't occurred to anyone.
"The people are the heroes now,
Behemoth pulls the peasant's plow."
(John Adams, from Nixon in China)
ADD isn't a disease. It is an addiction to stimulation.
Should it be a wonder that no one had ever heard of ADD a hundred years ago, yet now it is so prevalent that as many as half of my friends claim to have it to some degree? And should it be a coincidence that this is happening in the most stimulating age in human history?
People need to take a break, so that they are capable of extracting meaning and pleasure from the simpler things in this world. They really do. It shouldn't be necessary for commercials to start off with a bang and a flash just to get your attention.
To test this theory, I'd like to see some Psychologist out there begin treating ADD children as if they were addicted to something, as opposed to them having a disease and needing to take Ritalin or another form of drug. I dare say this would be far more effective than what is already being tried.
Maybe I'm just some ignorant blogger who knows nothing about psychology or counselling, and doesn't care about all the poor little children. But you can't tell me this idea hasn't occurred to anyone.
"The people are the heroes now,
Behemoth pulls the peasant's plow."
(John Adams, from Nixon in China)
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