Patron Saint of the Internet

I’ve been reading that in the year 2000 Pope John Paul II proposed that St. Isidore be declared patron saint of the internet. In the 7th century Isidore wrote a book that was widely reproduced and read. At the time the book, Etymologies, was nearly as popular as the Bible. In Etymologies Isidore determined derivations of words from Greek to the vernacular but what made up the bulk of the twenty volumes was his compilation of what he considered to be the entirety of human knowledge.

Much of the contents of Isadore’s tome has been determined to be imaginative conjecture and has been dismissed by scholars as the perpetuation of myth and the conveyance of misinformation. Reason enough, I suppose, that he should be associated with the internet.

Keystone Species

I’ve been reading that biologists have determined that certain predators are key to preserving diversity in various eco systems: starfish, for example, serve the function by consuming mussels that would otherwise destroy the diversity in tide pools and fresh water largemouth bass are a keystone species in freshwater streams controlling the populations of minnows that would otherwise over-graze plant life. In the waters off western Alaska sea otters control the populations of sea urchins that can devastate kelp forests.

The lesson to be learned, I guess, is that keystone species are necessary to control populations of system threatening species in order to maintain healthy diverse eco-systems. I wonder whether a keystone species might exist somewhere that could control the species most responsible for threatening the health of the earth.

Miracles

I’ve been reading that Christian conviction, the truth of the doctrine, lies in the fore-told Christ and the miracles he performed, miracles being occasions of instantaneous healing or bringing to life the deceased, things that defy nature or rational expectation.

Our apologist warns us, though, that miracles ‘are not of such a nature that it can be said that they are absolutely convincing’, that miraculous events may or may not be miracles. If miracles are the foundation of doctrinal truth that separates Christian belief from heresies it would appear maintaining faith is no simple matter. Finding the truth will require relinquishing self-love and malice of heart.

If religious faith is more than the social support of the congregation it appears maintaining it will require some work.

An Uneasy Exchange

I visited with a childhood friend recently. We have known each other since elementary school and over the years have shared numerous interests, developed common sensibilities. Things change with time and experience, of course, and my friend and I have found ourselves philosophically polarized.

He has been, for quite some time now, a committed Evangelical harboring the benevolent belief Christian faith will bring serenity and peace not to mention a heavenly afterlife. I on the other hand, remain philosophically open-ended believing a pluralistic world view will produce the greatest likelihood mankind will be able to come together, to unite in a common empathy, reduce sectarian conflicts and direct us toward a peaceful future existence.

I though, unlike my friend, harbor the anxieties of real time, am unable to adapt to the closed system of religious faith, even though the vision of a sunny after-life is pretty attractive.

Brain Fog

I’ve been reading, lately, that an increasing number of people are having a serious problem thinking. The complaint, made primarily by young adults, is of an inability to mentally focus and make decisions. In explanation, researchers point to the prevalence of ‘long covid’ as being a primary culprit causing what suffers refer to as ‘brain fog’: a condition affecting their ability to function at work.

I find myself wondering as I observe these Gen-Zers and Millennials, ubiquitous smart phones in hand while in airpod oblivion, what the true cause of their ‘brain fog’ might be.

Saying the Unsayable

I’ve been reading about Robert Irwin the mid-20th century Abstract Expressionist painter who pushed the boundaries of what a painting could be. After struggling for years to solve the figure/ground problem (the ‘problem’ being how to make a painting of substance that contained no object or background) his concerns turned to the problem of eliminating the restrictions of the format, the limiting edges of the canvas.

Using reflected, carefully placed lighting and a small translucent disc he was able to extend a shadowy image upon the vertical wall surface. Viewers appreciating, I guess, the time and energy spent by an artist of recognized commitment and needing to put language to what they were seeing addressed the ‘beauty’ of this new work much to the consternation of the artist who had no thought whatsoever of aesthetics in what he was producing.

Maybe applying language to visual art should be tempered. Investigations such as Irwin’s should elicit unspoken personal response rather than public comment.

Christian Apologetics

I’ve been reading, lately, Penzees, written by the 17th century philosopher Blaise Pascal. The work goes into great detail defending and advocating belief in Christianity. Rationale for such belief centers on the idea man is morally flawed and sinful making existence psychologically painful. Why else, the apologist argues, do we avoid the reality of the here and now through pre-occupation with the past or anticipation of the future, or by other constant diversions that keep us from facing the inevitable: the realization of a finite existence that will end in extinction.

The solution to this dilemma, we are directed, is in admitting our shortcomings, relinquishing our pride and our fear of the enormity of existence. If we do this, we can create a space, a place for God.

The philosopher offers strong argument. We all, if we think about it, live with our uncertainties and fears. Belief in a benevolent God will surely bring peace of mind to those able to embrace it. There are caveats, I suppose. One may find, upon commitment that remaining in ‘good faith’ may be somewhat more involved than a simple declaration of belief.

Premonitions of Doom

I’ve been lately experiencing premonitions of doom. I reason it’s the time of year: an extended run of cold gray days, nature receding into dormancy. But maybe not. Maybe negative life-changing events, beyond my control, are on the horizon. I can imagine all sorts of horrible scenarios involving violence or accident. Pure evil may even enter in.

My life has been reasonably free of negative occurrences; I can’t remember experiencing serious personal disaster. Family passings have been expected, serious health issues haven’t materialized. Maybe I’m due.

I guess such feelings are why some people embrace religion.

Confrontation

A recent heated confrontation has me thinking about my history of passionate exchanges. As I remember my teen years, confrontation was youthful exuberance fed by a black/white world view, nuances not yet present in my developing brain. Hot-blooded exchanges, aggressive verbal attacks were fed by moral outrage at perceived social injustices. To be honest such passions manifested in private, usually from the safety of my bedroom.

These days I try to avoid confrontation, am better able (thanks to blood-pressure meds) to temper animosities, remaining silent and suppressing my inclination to speak out in the heat of the moment. Even so, I am surprised sometimes when my temper flairs and I’m unable to withhold strong response. I guess certain behaviors are simply in one’s nature.

Fishing Trip Revisited

I’ve been thinking about the fishing trip I was on this past summer, how difficult, unpleasant I found it to be. The small boat on rough water and lack of the sonar devices most everyone else on the lake had made me thinking of the David Foster Wallace essay title: ‘A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again’. I found myself humming Taj Mahal’s ‘Going Fishin’ to pass the time.

Now, as many things viewed in retrospect, I remember a not unpleasant experience resulting eventually in reasonable success. I think now of the small plaque in the fish camp’s cleaning building that offered the fisherman’s common plaint: ‘Tell Your Own Lies’. Multiple meanings in that, I guess.