The great decline is setting in…

Posted in health with tags , , , on 09/06/2011 by cyningablod

Ah’m no sick yet, but it’s in the fuckin post, that’s fir sure.  …The great decline is setting in.  It starts as it generally does, with a slight nausea in the pit ay ma stomach and an irrational panic attack.  A toothache starts tae spread fae ma teeth intae ma jaws and ma eye sockets, and aw through ma bones in a miserable, implacable, debilitating throb.  The auld sweats arrive oan cue, and lets no forget the shivers, covering ma back like a thin layer ay autumn frost oan a car roof.”*

Cows assess this syndrome.  OK, not cows cows; C.O.W.S.  The Clinical Opiate Withdrawal Scale.  An instrument that objectively assigns a numerical value from 0 (or, chilled-out) to 4 (or, yir fucked, mate!) to the externally observed level of intensity of eleven different opiate withdrawal symptoms.  Sweating, pupil dilation, tremors, nausea, quickened pulse, aches, anxiety, chills, etc.  Doesn’t really sound so bad, does it.  Especially not when it’s in a nice tidy formatted list with accompanying point scale.  Clinical.  Sterile.  Like the monotone voiceover of a prescription drug TV advert where the gent says, “Symptoms may include…”.

But those banal, familiar symptoms that we’ve all experienced at one time or another (usually in non-addiction contexts) become much greater than the sum of their own clinical descriptions, the further up that COWS ladder one climbs.

I know this.  I’ve scaled that thing too many goddamn times.

Here ah am in the junky’s limbo; too sick tae sleep, too tired tae stay awake.  A twilight zone ay the senses where nothing’s real except the crushing, omnipresent misery n pain in your mind n body…  Doctor Mathews sais that it’s jist really like a bad flu, this withdrawal…  When wis the last time auld Mathews hud cauld turkey?  Ah’d like tae lock that dangerous auld radge in a padded cell fir a fortnight, and gie um a couple ay injections ay diamorphine a day, then leave the cunt for a few days.  He’d be beggin us fir it eftir that.  Ah’d jist shake ma heid and say: Take it easy mate.  What’s the fuckin problem?  It’s jist like a bad flu.

That’s the way a lot of doctors and therapists and counselors and clean (read: sober) lay folks describe opiate withdrawal: like a bad flu.  And lexically, technically–matching up and comparing the words in both symptom lists–I guess it is.  But they don’t know this from personal experience.  Nor do they understand the severity of the psychological component, which is after all what addiction really is: a brain disorder.  I don’t know of any strain of flu on this planet that precipitates soul-crushing anxiety, drives its victims mad with the craving-ridden knowledge that just one hit, one dose, will make it all go totally away, or denies them any and all rest for days and weeks at a time.

Why no rest, you might wonder?  Well, opiate withdrawal, experientially and neurochemically, is a (seemingly endless!) sustained fight-or-flight reaction.  Literally.  During opiate addiction, the body’s ancient noradrenergic system, which is activated in times of great stress, fear, or pain, is suppressed.  (Which is why opiates feel so good in the first place: they relieve all that.)  In a brain soaked with opiates, the production and release of stimulating neurotransmitters like noradrenaline and norepinephrine is squelched.  With continued use comes brain adaptation to this situation, so when opiate use is ceased, production of noradrenaline ramps up again, wildly, and the brain catches fire.  A chemical fire, an internal “overdose” of the neurotransmitters behind our inherited fight-or-flight reaction: fear, panic, pain, excitement, restlessness, and all the attendant involuntary somatic manifestations of these.  All acutely intense.  And all not momentary, but ongoing and ongoing.  Stop for a moment and try to imagine that.

For me this extremely heightened mental arousal was always the worst part of withdrawal.  It denied me sleep for days on end, which is an experience horrific enough that no human should ever have to endure it.  In the worst moments there wasn’t much I wouldn’t have done to get even one hour of the most restless, sweaty, feverish sleep.  The closest I ever came to suicide–which at times was closer than I’ve ever told anyone–was in these days of complete deprivation of rest.  It makes you fucking crazy.  A few times I tried hitting myself in the head with my own fist, as hard as I could, hoping to knock myself out long enough to get some rest.  Stupid and pathetic, but true.

It’s still fourteen hours and n fifteen minutes until ah kin git ma new fix.

No flu strain stops time, either.  When you’re in the trough of that drug withdrawal roller coaster–those brutal, sometimes days-long, in-between times between taking your last dose and being dope-rich again–time slows to a standstill.  Like those scenes in sci-fi movies where full-speed motion quickly slows to a frozen moment, a three-dimensional photograph.  But your brain keeps frantically pumping out the noradrenaline, so you’re keen to everything…your senses are sped up, so everything else slows way down.  Time passes, but not for you.  You’re left embedded in misery, feeling hopeless and damned for eternity, because the one thing that you most need to happen–for time to pass ‘til either you get your next dose or ‘til the withdrawal abates naturally–won’t happen.  At least it seems that way.

How many times I went through all this, how many times I counted the seconds…then the minutes…and then the hours…’til I could pick up my next dose, I shudder to recall.  How many times I phoned my docs and the pharmacy for early refills, hoping that they’d let me slide just this once…how many times I showed up at the pharmacy the very second they opened, shirt soaked with sweat, trembling, aching, sad and humiliated, and trying my best to act casual and not at all desperate…how many times I waited “just ten or fifteen minutes” more, wandering around the pharmacy waiting for them to prepare and process the script or the refilll…I literally can’t count.

Then I would hurriedly pay and greedily slip away with the Rx bag, dope-rich again.  I would dose before even leaving the pharmacy, and within minutes I was feeling warm and euphoric, like none of this had ever happened.  Instantly better.  And I’d keep using ‘til I ran out early, and the whole goddamn cycle started again.

Coda:
If I’m ever tempted to relapse, I’m going to try to remember all this, because I don’t EVER want to have to go through that shit again.  But for now I’m writing it down here, and then going to try to forget it.

*All quotes from Irvine Welsh’s novel Trainspotting.

review/summary of Dawkins’ Evidence for Evolution

Posted in nature, science, science education / critical thinking with tags , , , , , , , , on 28/02/2010 by cyningablod

When I was reading Richard Dawkins’ new book, The Greatest Show on Earth: The Evidence for Evolution (Free Press, 2009), a few weeks back, I took pretty careful notes.  I did this so that I could always have some quick reference to the evidence Dawkins offers, and so that when at some later point I chose to “review” the book, I’d have a better recollection of its strengths and weaknesses.

I’m now inclined to pen a few comments on the work, and to summarize–very, very briefly–a few of the many lines of evidence that Dawkins offers in support of this important yet savagely maligned scientific theorum (“theorum” being Dawkins’ own neologism, coined to suggest a factually stronger set of data and inferences than a simple theory, although truthfully, in the scientific sense, a theory is more or less tantamount to fact, a detail that scientists and defenders of science often must pain themselves to explain to denialists and other anti-science types who resort to the hackneyed “it’s-just-a-theory!” argument).

This book is an extremely valuable contribution to the public discourse on evolution.  For far too long (IMHO) there has been a lack of accessible, layperson-friendly information on the positive evidence for evolution.  It seems that all too often, scientists and science advocates have to be continuously on the defensive; they must spend the majority of their time combatting creationist criticisms of Darwin’s theory of origins.  As a result, dialogue pertaining to the actual scientific data that establishes evolution as a theory/fact as solid as any in science, is stifled, sidelined, and marginalized.  This is ironic, because if more people were willing to listen to these evidences in the first place, the many ignorant, vacuous, creationist canards that are perpetually regurgitated in critique of evolutionary theory, would most likely be preempted.  Dawkins has done a great service to science and to public understanding thereof by taking the time to boldly advance the experimental, observational, and theoretical data that has established evolution as the single best explicatory model of biological diversity that has ever been developed.  Hopefully the dialectical contribution represented by this book will help assert and (re-)establish in the public sphere evolution’s position as recognized scientific fact.

Personally, I accepted the facts of evolution long, long before I ever read TGSOE: TEFE (before I ever read any of Dawkins’ books, actually).  It was thanks to a good university education that I was able to leave behind my creationist upbringing.  So I’m not really one of the people who need to read this book.  In many ways, Dawkins is “preaching to the choir”, with me.  But I found it an immensely rewarding read, if for no other reason that that it introduced me to lines of evolutionary evidences that even I as a science fan and avid reader of pop-level science literature, had not known about.  So this book is doubly valuable: for creationists and other denialists (“history-deniers”, Dawkins calls them), it could very well serve as the intellectual shock that will shake them from those misguided faith systems; and for those who are already well educated about biology and origins, it will reinforce their confidence in science and equip them to better counter creationist nonsense.

Having said that, though, I must admit that I don’t always agree with Dawkins.  (On matters unrelated to evolution, I find his anti-religious worldview to be needlessly extreme, overly simplistic, and not a little arrogant.)  I think he assumes too much, on occasion.  For example, when discussing the longitudinal trend of the tusks of certain African elephants to grow shorter over several decades in the mid-20th century (purportedly, because of the selective pressure exerted by ivory hunters seeking the largest tusks possible), Dawkins seems to utterly disregard the distinct possibility that the data showing the reduction in average tusk size is due not to evolution through selection, but simply to a year-to-year increase in the number of large-tusked elephants being harvested, legally and otherwise.  I also think that Dawkins displays a bit of either ignorance or misunderstanding of the philosophy behind certain creationist/Intelligent Design concepts such as “optimal design” and the theodicy behind natural evil. 

Richard Dawkins, appearing at the University of Texas, Austin (photo credit: Shane Pope, under Creative Commons 2.0 license)

Still, those are very, very minor issues.  (I mention them only to prevent anyone thinking, “You’d believe anything Dawkins says; he’s just your ideological hero.”  I find fault in Dawkins’ reasoning and argumentation, as readily as I do, in anyone’s.  But since he’s correct about so much in science, the points on which he and I disagree, are rare and small.  :-) )

Now, a very brief summary of the kinds of evidence Dawkins presents in TGSOE: TEFE.  I have not at all included everything that Dawkins presents; I have in fact entirely omitted mention of the more dense discussions of molecular “clocks”, calculations of genetic relationship, and the chapter on evolutionary “arms races” that he includes in the book, but I have noted the basics of the majority of Dawkins’ topics.

Dawkins begins TGSOE: TEFE with a discussion of artificial selection: wolves to dogs, wildflowers to special floral breeds, etc., etc.  The creationist criticism here is not at all difficult to imagine:  “Artificial selection is just that: artificial.  It doesn’t even begin to provide evidence for large-scale evolution.”  This may be true (at least, partially) but the reason Dawkins begins with a discussion of artificial selection (and its resultant “micro-evolution”) is twofold.  First, it is to prepare the skeptical reader for what is to come, by addressing the types of evolution that very nearly everyone already accepts.  Second, as Dawkins points out, artificial selection is essentially just an experiment, which proves natural selection:  “Artificial selection constitutes a true experimental–as opposed to observational–test of the hypothesis that selection causes evolutionary change.” (p.66)  Dawkins then describes a number of cases that illustrate natural selection, proper (i.e., the evolution of various traits in response to selective pressures, with no human intervention): the co-evolution of flowers and those insects and birds (pollinators) that play a part in their reproduction (p. 80); the lizards of Pod Mrcaru (p.114); John Endler’s studies of the guppies of Venezuela and Trinidad & Tobago (p. 133); etc.

One of the most interesting sections of TGSOE: TEFE is in my view Dawkins’ discussion of transitional fossils.  He correctly emphasizes that evolution would stand up well on its own because of other kinds of evidence, even if we entirely lacked fossils.  But since creationists make such a big deal about fossils (foolishly and ignorantly, of course, which Dawkins demonstrates), he does address the issue.  Since the denialists frequently claim that “there are no intermediate ['missing link'] fossils between species, between genera, etc.,” he offers dozens of examples, although he seems (rightly) to think that he is answering a specious and misguided challenge, to begin with.  One of the most interesting ”missing link” fossils is the recently discovered Tiktaalik rosae, a transitional organism somewhere between a fish and an amphibian, which is a demonstable intermediate between Panderichthys and Acanthostega (pp. 167 – 9).*  Other examples: Eusthenopteron: a late Devonian fish that had the humerus, radius, and ulna of a tetrapod (p. 166); Ichthyostega, a late-Devonian/early-Carboniferous “salamander-y” fish (p. 167); the aforementioned Acanthostega, which was a similarly amphibian-ish fish, that had lungs and walked on land [!] (p. 167); the ancient dugong Pezosiren, which had legs, unlike its modern, fully-aquatic descendant (p. 173); the ancient ancestor of seals and sea lions, Puijila darwini (p. 172); an ancient forbear of turtles and tortoises, which had only a shell on the abdomen, but not on the back (“turtle on the half-shell” LOL!): Odontochelys semitestacea (p. 174); and the wide range of chronologically well-ordered intermediates that illustrate the evolutionary history of whales: Pakicetus, Ambulocetus, Dalanistes, Rodhocetus, Takracetus, Gaviocetus, Basilosaurus, and Dorudon (p. 171).**  Dawkins also (of course) includes a discussion of all the many hominid (i.e., human ancestor) transitional skulls and fossils that have been found.***

[ Perhaps the most famous example of a transitional/intermediate "missing link" fossil is the "part-dinosaur, part-bird" animal whose remains were found in China, Archaeopteryx.  Having claws and teeth like a dinosaur, but also feathers and wings like a modern bird, Archaeopteryx seems like an evolutionist's evidence dream.  But Dawkins point out that it is a very poor example to cite as a transitional form, because "birds" and "dinosaurs" are so far apart, cladistically speaking, that it is wrong to think that the latter "evolved into" the former.  That is, Archaeopteryx is fine evidence for evolution, but not of the idea that dinosaurs became birds. ]

Dawkins also discusses species that appear only on various specific ”islands” (he uses the term loosely, to describe simple geographically isolated environments, that bring about strictly local evolutionary changes).  He correctly argues that if evolution were true, we would expect to find areas of the earth in which species have developed in isolation from other species and their gene pools, giving rise to very diverse species on various “islands”.  This is in fact exactly what we observe, of course.  Dawkins cites the marine iguanas of the Galápagos (p. 261), the many marsupials and eucalyptus trees of Australia (p. 268), the lemurs of Madagascar, the penguins of Antarctica, Platyrrhine mokeys, and certain South American rodents like the capybara, nutria, etc. (p. 269) as creatues that a creator would have had to have decided, rather inscrutably, to “exile” to remote areas of the globe.  “Island” species don’t make much sense in a creationist paradigm, but they are perfectly predictable according to evolution, and are better compatible with the latter.

Dawkins devotes a chapter to another set of phenomena that, while not necessarily proving evolution, really only makes sense within an evolutionary history of life on our planet: the presence of skeletal vestiges and homologues.  All mammals, for example (and indeed, in a different way, all crustaceans), share the same skeletal body plan; only the proportions of individual respective bones are different: bats, horses, humans, whales, etc., all share the same number of skull bones, “hand” bones, etc., etc. (pp. 288 – 96).  This suggests simple historical variation on a basic “body plan” inherited from a common ancestor.  Further, the presence of vestigial organs and skeletal formations prove common ancestry and cousinship between species.  The human coccyx, for example, is identical in basic structure to the bones that form the base of the tail in mammals that still have a tail (p. 290).  Horses, who have only one digit on their hands and feet, retain in their forelegs the bones of those disappeared other “finger” and “toes”; these are called “splint” bones (p. 291).

TGSOE: TEFE contains a long discussion on molecular genetics, and Dawkins cites some lines of evolutionary evidences here that were for me a bit dense, to be honest.  However, one study that was conducted did stand out as a great proof of evolution.  In 1982, a researcher by the name of Penny compared a specific set of genes among species including humans, kangaroos, dogs, sheep, cows, and chimps.  I don’t recall the technical details, but the upshot of the study is this:  Upon comparing the variations of the genes in question through a computer program that draws inferences based upon the mathematical rules of probability, it was found that the predicted genetic relationship between any one of these species with another, was exactly as was anticipated according to an evolutionary schema (pp. 323 – 5).  In other words, it was found, quantitatively, on a gentic molecular  level, that humans are closer cousins to chimps than to cows, and dogs are sheep are closer cousins to cows than they are to us, etc., etc.  If evolution were not true, none of these relationships would have been demonstrable on a molecular level.

I probably have done little justice here to Dawkins’ The Greatest Show on Earth: The Evidence for Evolution.  But I thought it would be worthwhile to offer my comments on (and praises of) the work.  And even though I’ve described here only a small portion of the book’s evolutionary evidences, perhaps it will be enough to encourage others to read the book.

*Interestingly, Tiktaalik rosae played a significant role in the recent court case over Intelligent Design in public school science classes, Kitzmiller et al vs. Dover School Board.  Expert witnesses for the plaintiffs (among them the great evolutionary biologist Kenneth Miller) mentioned T. rosae as a specific example of a transitional form, which creationists say don’t exist.  The Dover case was, as hardly need be mentioned, decided in favor of science and secular education.  T. rosae was not by any stretch the plaintiffs’ only piece of evidence, of course, but it is a great example to cite!

**As if these weren’t enough to show a clear evolution of whales, another transitional whale fossil has just been found, very recently (this month, Feb 2010!).  Called Maiacetus inuus, and dating to at least 5 million years ago (IIRC).

***The immensely significant and groundbreaking discovery late last year of Ardipithecus ramidus came too late, apparently, for Dawkins to include in this book.  The skeleton of A. ramidus that was found, was palaeolithically dated (using a chemical radioactive “clock” of the surrounding rock layers) to about 4.3 million years ago.  The fossil is a transitional between the more ancient hominid ancestors, and those hominids that walked upright and date to no more than 2 million years ago, such as those in the genus Australopithecus (e.g., A. afarensis), and the many transitional fossils in our own genus, Homo (e.g., H. erectus, H. ergaster, H. habilis, etc.).

Taos Hum: spirit of the desert

Posted in nature, spirituality, United States with tags , , , , , , on 26/02/2010 by cyningablod

I love the American Southwest.  There is something very spiritual about it.  Something very exotic…and yet very familiar.

It would be fitting, I think, to begin by restating my frequent affirmation of being a proud native Tennessean, deeply and forever enamoured of my homeland.  For me there are few places amongst those anywhere I have lived or travelled, whether uninhabited nature or urban space, that can favourably compare with eastern Tennessee and western North Carolina, my Appalachian cradle.  Ancient verdant mountain ranges, lush and undulating, embrace the azure sky above and the polished silver of lakes and rippling rivers below.  In spring the dogwoods bloom white; in summer the sugary fragrances of mimosa and honeysuckle hang thick in the air, wrapping around the poplar and magnolia trees, and the near-daily afternoon thunderstorms bathe and perfume the sweating earth.  In autumn the land explodes into a luminous spectrum of crimson, orange, ochre, yellow, and greens that range in hue from deep pine to pear.  (I prefer not to think of winter.)  Those hills and valleys have long held my heart, and always will.

My adoration of this great land that we call America extends to other regions, however, especially the Southwest.  There is a particular, almost palpable, wild, ancient spirit to it.  Even for all the beauty and soul and goodness of my upland Southern native home, east Tennessee doesn’t possess the raw vitality of western Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, and southern California.  Those who have lived in this area of our nation, or visited extensively, or even studied it, will understand what I mean.  No doubt this arises at least in part from the rough beauty of the often unforgiving yet sensuous landscape.  Certainly the native peoples who have lived in these lands for thousands of years have both drawn spiritual and cultural inspiration from the heartbeat of this desert earth, and also infused the very sand, soil, stone, and flora with their own dreams and identity.  You can just feel it, somehow. 

I have had the great privilege and joy of travelling across southern North

on the road in the Southwest

America, from coast to coast, and of visiting the states of the Southwest on many different occasions.  I have spent the last nine years living in the south Texas Hill Country.  In the Southwest, there is of course not nearly as much lush green vegetation as I was accustomed to, growing up in the southern Appalachian foothills.  Water has long since lost a strong foothold here.  But a relative dearth of blue water and green chlorophyll is not synonymous with “drab”.  The land takes on an amazing variety of colours, of all intensities, shades, hues, patterns, and combinations: most especially maroon, burnt orange, sandy brown, mottled and muted green, grey, and even purest white (from extensive gypsum deposits and great dry lake beds). 

There are few rolling hills, but many, many crisp, dry, ragged young mountain ranges, often sliced and gashed throughout with magnificent, awe-inspiring canyons carved by millions of years of running river water.  And the Sun…  The sun burns down and purifies the land with its fire…sustaining, renewing, refining.  The Southwestern sky at dusk is one of the most magnificent chapel ceilings painted by God’s hand: stretching from a deep ultramarine blue in the East, speckled with white stars, to the burning orange sunset in the West, with a whole series of amazing transitional colouring between, in the firmament overhead.  Throughout California, Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas, there seems to be a constant, strong wind that blows through; this was one of the climatic phenomena that most impressed me upon my moving to south Texas.  I imagine it as the land’s own breathing.

California…  The lush San Fernando Valley, and the lovely desolation of the Mojave Desert: hot, quiet, and immense.  I found the Mojave to be just a little frightening, but thrilling.  Alluring and inspiring, rather like an extraterrestrial moon elsewhere in the cosmos. 

I loved Arizona when I first met her.  How much that state’s rough, scrubby mountains, valleys, buttes, mesas, and fascinating rock formations impressed me!  Countless eons of a scouring windy erosion have vivisected many of her great stony edifices, and one can easily reach out and touch

Arizona mountains

rock layers from epochs tens of millions of years past.  I stood at the crest of Meteor Crater near Winslow, and, having learned long before its astronomical import, I could imagine the apocalyptic blast that would have left that giant scar, so many thousands of years ago.  Standing on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, I sensed the same overwhelming antiquity and majesty that so many millions before me have felt.  One feels only an infinitesimally tiny part of the greater world, beholding there nature’s magnum opus of water and stone.  In Arizona, one can almost hear the whispers of the  departed Anasazi.  The ruins of their once-mighty cities bear this quiet witness. 

New Mexico, with its beautiful, snowy-white yuccas in bloom, spindly spires of ocotillo and profuse clusters of prickly pear across the land, white sands, gypsum flats, painted deserts, mammoth underground caves and caverns that dwarf in size and beauty any mediaeval cathedral, is indeed a land of enchantment.  As I have described of the entire region, there is a palpable, almost mystical vitality of the land that we now call New Mexico.  Perhaps it is some innate vestige of the spirit of the Hopi.  This mystery may also have

Southern New Mexico desert

something to do with modern myths that have emerged: the Roswell myth (I have visited Roswell, and its “alien” museum; a fascinating and highly amusing landmark!) has imbued the entire southeastern portion of the New Mexico desert with an other-worldly spirit.  A legacy of warfare and cloak-and-dagger physics and aircraft research has left places like Los Alamos National Laboratory and White Sands Missile Range on the map, reinforcing a sense of cryptic excitement and latent danger.  And then there is the Taos Hum: a strange audio phenomenon thought by some to suggest some extraterrestrial or top-secret military flight activity, or perhaps an anamolous convergence of some exotic geophysical power.  I think the Taos Hum is, rather, just another manifestation of the sensation that people draw from the Southwestern lands, in general.

And then there is Texas: a state within the United States federal union, to be sure, but largely a nation in and unto itself.  Texas is so vast, that climate and geography vary extremely widely, from East to West, North to South.  In my

McAllister Park, San Antonio, TX

small humble view, by far the most vital regions of this great state, the most “Southwestern” in spirit, are Western Texas, which blends seamlessly and gradually into the New Mexico deserts (and vice versa), and the dry southern Hill Country, with its live oak trees, poplars, and pecan trees, and meandering rivers and lakes, and centuries-old Spanish Missions.  And when spring brings bluebonnets, the central- and south-Texas earth is carpeted in a floral finery equalled only by the deep blue of the sky. 

Texas is where I have made my home with my dear family.  It is where my daughter was born.  So I suppose in a way, my love for and ties to the Southwest, are owed to this wonderful state.

There is a spirit in the Southwest.  And now I find it within myself.

Carolina in the south Texas bluebonnets

a nostalgic vista

Posted in nature with tags , , , , , , on 08/01/2010 by cyningablod

The other day at work I was feeling a little weird. It was rather bittersweet-pleasant, though. At first I couldn’t put my finger on any reason for feeling that way, nor even what the feeling itself was, nor how it could be verbalised. I was sure, at least, that it wasn’t pharamacologically-induced. :-)

The sky outside the library was dark, grey, and overcast. Almost no one was in the library (since we’re in our holiday break period, still), so I was largely alone. Tori Amos was playing quietly on my mp3 player as I worked at the circ desk.

And then it hit me: All these stimuli–the January winter weather, the solitude, the specific music–made me miss my siblings and friends from back home in Tennessee, and the things we used to do together in our late youth, as we entered adulthood, almost twenty years ago.  I guess cold Texas winters will always make me think of Tennessee, and my young life there…

And then I thought of one of my own deepest, most priceless little “happy places”. I imagine all of us have somewhere deep within, certain sets of these kinds of sentiments: personal memories that are so precious, so rare, so seemingly distant and inaccessible now, that they stir our hearts with both nostalgia and a kind of loving homesickness and a hope for a future return in some way.

I was thinking of Walden Ridge, a picturesque, many-kilometres-long, North-to-South ridgeline along the easternmost ribs of the Cumberland Plateau. In Anderson County, TN, where I grew up, Walden Ridge stretches all the way through and then comes to a terminus in the southern part of the county, near Oliver Springs.  A small hiking trail (formerly–and in some locales, currently–part of the Cumberland and Waden Ridge Trail systems) runs along Walden Ridge at the crest, and absolutely breathtaking vistas of the rural Tennessee valleys that lie on either side of the ridgeline are afforded to the intrepid hiker, when s/he can peer out from the majestic old-growth trees that rise up along the slope of the ridge, and can glimpse the sprawling green valley floors, over 500 metres (~1,600′) down, and from there survey out towards the horizon in all directions. I took many, many a hike and mountain-bike ride along that trail, and more than one rustic and heartwarming overnight camp there with friends. On these camping trips, a crackling, natural wood campfire lulled us to sleep and filled our lungs and souls with the freshness of the outdoor mountain air, and the unmistakable, relaxing aroma of a natural-log fire.

But there’s an even more special memory I have of the small section of Walden Ridge that stretches down deep into my native county: I recall warmly the Laurel Grove Fire Tower, a skeletal steel structure with a small TN Div. of Foresty cabin at the top, containing survey equipment.  (Here is a better 3-D topo map of the ridgeline, showing a small red icon indicating the tower’s location.)

Laurel Grove Fire Tower, Anderson Co., TN

This tower–named for the very tiny hamlet of Laurel Grove that sits on a spur of the ridgeline, just below–has an interior zig-zagging staircase, and stands at well over 30 metres (~100′) high. Given that it is located at one of the Ridge’s highest points (< 600 metres/~1,700′), when one climbs to the top of the stairs in that open-air structure that is really just glorified scaffolding, the panorama of the east TN Valley (the area between the Appalachian Mountain range to the East, and the Cumberland Plateau to the West) is just breathtakingly beautiful and awe-inspiring.  It was from atop the stairs of this firetower that I fell even further deeply in love with my homeland.  I couldn’t avoid it; looking out over those valleys and ancient ridges in every direction, especially at night, was an almost dreamlike experience, rather like getting to do a personal fly-over of the terrain of some light-years distant extrasolar planet with earthlike landforms and patches of extraterrestrial city lights many kilometres distant.  (My mates and I also did plain ol’ fun stuff like free-rappel [or "fast-rope", more or less] down through the open centre of that winding set of stairs!)

A b&w photographic view looking southwest from Laurel Grove Fire Tower, Anderson Co., TN, at sunset

My wife and I, when we first started dating as 17-year-olds in 1993, hiked to the tower, and carved our initials together inide a heart in the wood on the uppermost rung.  As far as I know, they’re probably still there.  That’s one of the sweetest memories I have of that location, of course.  Sadly, I read now that the Laurel Grove Fire Tower is privately owned, and that even large sections of the Cumberland/Walden Ridge hiking trail are also now in private hands, and one must obtain permission to be on the land, as “no trespassing” signs are posted everywhere.  That breaks my heart in a big way, because it essentially forever consigns the nostalgia I feel for that place, to only a sweet memory.  And it crates up and packs away a permanent artifact of my wife’s and my early love and courting.

On one crisp autumn evening, some friends and I drove up the dangerous, winding Walden Ridge gravel road (see map links, above), and hiked up to the tower.  There was to be a full moon and a clear sky that night.  I cannot even begin to describe the surreal beauty of seeing my native Tennessee valley bathed in an ultramarine light cast by a big bright full moon.  Such a cosmically transcendent vista must be felt to be understood, and must be seen to be felt.

The memories of that place that I share with my loved ones are very sweet, and I will always treasure and hold them close to my heart.

an amateurish little argument for determinism

Posted in science education / critical thinking with tags , , , , , , , , on 04/01/2010 by cyningablod

Imagine the following for a moment.

You’re standing in the concessions line at the local cinema, waiting to buy candy before the movie starts. Upon stepping up to take your turn at the counter, you mentally narrow your choices to two of the many available items: chocolate-covered raisins (CCR) or sour gummy candies (SGC). Let’s say that you opt for the CCR. You inform the cashier of your choice, pay for the box of sweets, and move on into the theatre to take your seat.

Now, rewind for a moment, and take a thought snapshot of the very moment of your candy-purchase decision. Let’s now begin with that decision to buy the CCR, and ask the simple question: why? Why did you choose to purchase the CCR instead of the SGC, or any other candy, for that matter?

The most obvious—and perhaps most facile—answer, of course, is that you just wanted to. But that answer has little explanatory power, if for no other reason than that it simply pushes the question one step further back; it begs the question of why you wanted to.

If we opt to tackle this secondary question, things start to get complicated very quickly. Multiple lines of hypothesis are immediately opened. So let’s simplify things by dividing the myriad possible causes of your preference for CCR down to two basic planes: the metaphysical and the physical.

Following first on the metaphysical approach, let’s assume the existence of a pure free will, an intelligent (and perhaps incorporeal) human agency that permits one to exercise pure, unfettered, volitional choice. Perhaps it was this will that gave birth to your hunger for CCR. But this hypothesis still won’t suffice, because it raises many more—and perhaps more troubling—questions than it answers.

To begin with, we quickly come full circle: why did your metaphysical will drive your desire for the CCR, if it wasn’t actually exclusively you (i.e., your physical self) that did? In other words, from where in turn does your free will derive its will, its preferences? Are its choices utterly arbitrary? If so, how can they be volitionally meaningful? In fact, how can a free will have any value at all as a free will if its products are entirely capricious? Would that not undermine the very idea of a “free” will? Upon exploring these questions, it seems most unlikely that the desire-driven decisions we make are purely arbitrary; they must have some deeper source, some cause, some impetus. So we are again driven to take the question one further step back and speculate on why your will led you to make the confectionary decision you made. Quite a vicious circle.

Second, it seems very curious that a metaphysical intelligent agent that somehow exists as part of our very self would have an interest in something as cosmically insignificant as choosing between chocolate-covered raisins and sour gummy candies at a movie theatre. Could our free will really be that much of a simpleton, or so poorly employed by us? Have we really—even for a moment—relegated this magnificent, precious personal gift to the utterly mundane task of picking out candy? How horribly disappointing! To be sure, our free will (if such a thing exists) executes far grander and more important volitional tasks for us all the time. But for this very reason, it seems odd that it would have any mandate at all regarding which candy to purchase. Through what manner of heuristic would it run to arrive at a preference for CCR over SGC?

But our problems don’t stop there. Let’s revisit our opening assumption in this line of thought. What reason have we to assume that such a thing as a free will even exists in the first place? Certainly, we have the perception of being free, and we feel that we really have the freedom to choose between the two candies, but do we really? Is it possible that our belief in volitional human agency is nothing more than misguided (yet biologically advantageous) vanity, just an evolved mental mechanism that encourages self-worth and consequent defensive physical reaction in the face of danger? Would a true fatalist survive long in the wild, if he really believed himself incapable of taking deliberate, willful action to feed and protect himself? So it seems that our foundational assumption is just that: a self-protective assumption, with little logical or synthetic evidence to support its adoption, but with great potential advantages to our survival as organisms and as a species.

Now we turn our attention to the physical paradigm for explaining our candy choice. While I intend to argue that this is the better explanatory approach (and consequently, that there is probably no such thing as a free will), I must first concede that this theory raises difficult questions of its own. I’ll deal with these shortly. But first…

A good starting point is the argument from neuroscience. I have no training or expertise in this field, but I have read about many findings pertaining to the mind-brain connection. In many cases, scientists have demonstrated that there exists what in philosophical terms is known as a “supervenient” relationship between mind states (those mental “qualia” that “feel” metaphysical and make up our inner self, such as thoughts, dreams, desires, intentions, etc.) and brain states (the electrical and chemical states and activities of the physical brain). A supervenient relationship means that, in effect, there can be no separating a mental state from a corresponding brain state (and often, vice versa). For example, when you think of both CCR and SGC, there may be multiple physical, cerebral states/actions/reactions/cascades/events involving neural electrical impulses and the release of neurotransmitters, instantiating the mental event of those two thoughts. And without these brain activities, the mental projection of CCR and SGC is not possible. More interestingly still, these brain activities always precede any conscious thought or action. So it seems reasonable to assume, based on 1) the supervenient binding of mental states with brain states, and 2) the precession of brain states to mental states, that brain states play a causal role in mental states. In other words, our thoughts are simply the product of that chemical-soaked electrical apparatus known as our brain. We have no true free will; everything we do that feels internally volitional to us has already been initiated by neural tissue.

[It’s important to note that this does not mean that our actions, thoughts, attitudes, etc., are not “our own". After all, our brains “belong" to us—to our bodies, at least—and are formed and developed by our own unique genetic inheritance and life experiences. It is therefore perfectly consistent within a biological-deterministic paradigm to attribute an individual’s choice to act or not act to himself or herself. This fact effectively undercuts moral objections to determinism; whether a person’s crimes, for example, are inspired by a free will or merely by non-intelligent brain states, the fact remains that he or she is their ultimate source, their agent! On an unrelated note, I should also point out that the conscious intelligence of the brain, that capacity to generate mental states, is not itself intelligent or “self-aware". Were it so, we would be in the same hopelessly regressive spiral of circular inquiry that we uncovered in discussing the free will. But the product of the brain’s functioning creates within us a self-perception, rather like a computer with an extremely complex and information-rich feedback loop. I wish I had even a smidge of the requisite expertise to discuss the nature of consciousness in more detail here, but I don’t. I’ll just hope that Daniel Dennett and his colleagues have sufficiently established a scientific and philosophical basis for believing that consciousness arises from non-consciousness.]

Now that I’ve (hopefully) successfully argued for the viability of a deterministic brain-state model of human will, let’s turn to the implied follow-up questions posed by this theory. Specifically, where and how did the brain states that instantiated your mental choice for CCR, originate? Here is where the determinist is cast into an unsettling sea of speculation.

Since I’m the determinist here, I have to believe that each of these neural events had a set of causes that brought it about (a concept described by Ted Honderich as a “causal circumstance”). I must also believe that each of those causes in turn had its own causes. The problem for me is, I can’t possibly demonstrate these assertions to any meaningful degree. I can only induce from natural laws and my own deterministic paradigm that some plethora of miniscule body processes—neural and hormonal and metal activities and such—trickled upwards towards the singular pinnacle of a mountain of causal circumstances, both ancient and present: a peak represented by that one event of your choosing CCR over SGC.

It’s not difficult to imagine how immensely and incomprehensibly vast and ancient this network of causal circumstances would be. Among the many possible non-volitional factors contributing to your decision, each having its own exponentially expanding tree of causal circumstances of its own, we might posit:

-a release of hormones that trigger a craving for theobromide

-a feeling of nostalgia when eating CCR at the movies

-a whim: you’ve never eaten CCR, and you decide to try them

-the packaging of the CCR is more attractive than that of the SGC

-the CCR are less expensive

-a distaste for all things gummy or sour

-a rebellious act against your friend, who suggests the SGC

-a hunger for something more “substantial? than SGC

-a belief that CCR are healthier, because they contain “fruit? (raisins)

-having just seen a beautiful girl (or guy) buy CCR, and unconsciously following suit

-wanting a sweet dessert (you just ate a big dinner)

-low blood sugar, which causes your body to crave sucrose

…and so on and so forth, ad infinitum.

Now, here’s the important point: Every one of these causes is the result of still more causes, and so on. It becomes clear very quickly that the chain of events leading to your decision to buy the CCR had been set in motion long before you—or even your parents or grandparents—were even born. You therefore had no choice in the matter, so your feeling of freedom to do otherwise is an illusion.

And so ends my essay. Before concluding, however, I’d like to comment on two likely objections. The first is the antiquated First Cause argument: that there had to be an ultimate Cause for all causes, else we are stuck in an infinite regress of causes, which we know cannot exist in a finite universe. (This argument, reformulated in modern times as the Kalam Cosmological Argument, which I’ll now refer to as FC/KCA, is usually proffered as proof of the existence of a God/Supreme Being.) I have two responses. The first is that, if one is wishing to use the FC/KCA as proof of the existence of God, it does no such thing. It simply pushes the causal question one step further back: who caused God? And why “God”, and not the Flying Spaghetti Monster? To say that God just “always was” is a facile, unsubstantiated, and ad hoc response, which can’t possibly prop up the FC/KCA. Secondly, there is no reason to believe that an infinite regress of causes in a spatially finite universe is impossible, for causes are not spatial, but temporal. The universe has spatial limits, but there is no reason to assume that it has an external temporal limit (i.e., that it is not part of some larger eternal existence). An eternally oscillating universe model will do just as nicely as God as the First Cause of this universe.

The second likely objection is the argument from quantum indeterminacy. It seems from the last century of research in subatomic physics that when we enter the level of subatomic particles (protons, neutrons, electrons, and the still smaller particles like quarks and hadrons that make them up), the all the rules go out the window, so to speak. Apparently such incomprehensibly tiny particles can spark into existence with no possible physical cause, and can elude our study of them by their pesky ability to defy the laws of macrophysics (the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle dictating that we cannot observe both a particle’s location and velocity at the same time, rendering quantum prediction—a necessary component of physical determinism—impossible). But the question remains as to whether or not quantum indeterminacy has any bearing whatsoever on macro determinism. The larger the object, it seems, the more it is subject to the mechanistic laws of this deterministic universe. My response to the challenge posed by quantum indeterminacy is simply a bewildered shrug of the shoulders. I have no idea if this theory undermines determinism or not, or to what degree. I suppose the most that free will advocates can use it for, however, is to argue by analogy to the quantum domain for the existence of a force—free will, supposedly—not bound by physical predestiny.

So I guess I’m a determinist, with slight reservations.  How this affects my theism, I’m not quite sure.  Maybe I tend towards a sort of deism (and yes, I know that’s an oxymoron, but at this stage in my life, I’m going to allow myself to hold one or two schizophrenically dissonant beliefs).

A heart frosted over by logic, reason, and scepticism

Posted in spirituality with tags , , , , on 03/01/2010 by cyningablod
Those who know me, know that I am very pensive and analytical. Combined with my interests and education (forgive my immodesty here please) this trait causes me to be very sceptical of a lot of things that might otherwise give me good *feelings*.

But there was a time–before my wanderings in the deserts of disbelief, before my self-imposed exile into a foolish, myopic atheism, and before my slow cycle back to a vague theism, followed by an ultimate return to a theologically loose yet very real and deep Christianity–that I loved God so very, very deeply: with all my heart and soul. I can’t recount the number of times in my young adulthood that the power of that love, that connection with the Beloved (as St. John of the Cross describes him), could manifest itself in no manner other than an outpouring of real tears, because the sentiment transcended human language and understanding. I miss that. I also miss worship, both alone and in church. I miss belonging to a group of believers, and being with them, magnifying the Magnificent.*

But modern American Christianity, in my view, has gotten itself all warped and wrapped up in politics and doctrines that I either know intellectually to be false, or that I cannot morally/conscientiously accept. So, as Bono sings, “I’d break bread and wine / If there was a church, I could receive in.” This state of one’s soul, hurts.

*Yesterday, as I was driving Lina around on a couple of fun errands, we were listening to U2′s new disc. When I tried to explain the significance of the lyrics of “Magnificent” to her, I started sobbing. I just couldn’t get out the meaning behind “a joyful noise”, without choking up. I finally just had to explain to her that “This song is in praise of God, and it makes Daddy cry happy tears.”

She then wisely pointed out that I shouldn’t cry, ’cause I was driving, and the road would get blurry in my vision. LOL! Smart girl.

My heart has been too long in the desert. I will find a way to express my spirituality, and will teach our daughter to do the same.

In sha’ Allah.

my new year’s resolutions, 2010

Posted in goals & personal development with tags , , , , , , on 03/01/2010 by cyningablod

2010 - a new beginning

These are in no particular order of significance; I’m going to write them just as they occur to me. So, here are my goals for the year (at least, the ones I can think of right now):

1. Show more consideration, affection, and love towards my wife; share more of myself with her.

2. Model good behaviours and attitudes more consistently for my daughter.

3.  Keep going to NA meetings, get a sponsor to help me start on the twelve steps, and put my “sobriety plan” into full effect.  Taper down slowly, then leave Suboxone and all benzos behind me, for good

4. Resume my daughter’s at-home Spanish-language lessons and weekly exercise regimen that I’ve designed for her.

5. Keep up my own ongoing exercise regimen, and incorporate significant cardiovascular training sessions at least twice a week.

6. Start eating better.

7. Do always what I can, and learn to accept and forgive myself for what I can’t.

8. Try to improve my professional supervisory skills, specifically as it pertains to leading by example, and fostering harmony and mutual respect amongst my staff.

9. Develop a deeper spirituality and a stronger, more real faith in that which is greater than I. Learn to let my heart call a few more shots from time to time, when appropriate.

10. Come up with a clearer, more organised chore list, and perform them more consistently.

11. Learn. Anything, everything. Never stop.

12.  Take up some set of mixed martial arts (Krav Maga/jiu jitsu, kung fu/wrestling, or boxing, etc.).

13. Hope.

14. Design a realistic, workable plan to accomplish the practical parts of all this.

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