Recently in Religion Category

This semester I had at least six students who claimed to believe in Creationism. I'm always befuddled by Creationists -- how does one talk to them? They don't understand what scientists mean by "theory," they don't understand rules for evidence, they don't get that science and religion don't have to be incompatible. For that matter, these students -- with one exception -- were woefully ignorant about their own sacred texts!

Anyway, here's "15 Answers to Creationist Nonsense."

I've been reading the Hebrew Bible, or, as the Christians say, the Old Testament, aided by as much scholarly appartus as I can get my hands on. Some of it is rough going; God is often depicted as capricious and cruel. It's difficult to have good feelings for a god who punishes a people for not completing the genocide of Canaan as commanded. And given that God "hardened the heart" of the Pharaoh, it seems unjust to visit so much destruction and hardship upon the Egyptians. And he plays favorites -- a fair reading of Samuel does not reveals David, the beloved of God, as an honorable man.

Anyway, I realize that what we have is, essentially, a tribal god believed by his worshippers to be the One True God, and that if we look for a god in sacred texts we're trying to find a god worthy of worship. That god is not in the mind of the writer of Psalm 137 who apparently was living through or remembering the Babylonian Exile:

O daughter Babylon, you devastator!
Happy shall be those who pay you back
what you have done to us!
Happy shall they be who take your littles ones
and dash them against the rockl

Biblical exegesis, of course, explains away the literal meaning of the text.

From the LA Times comes a story of Christian video game creators fighting against the immorality of our culture. They hope that instead of games loaded with ungodly killing and mayhem, consumers will play more spiritually enlightening games loaded with godly killing and mayhem. In one game, God's warriors yell, "Praise the Lord," after blowing away bad guys. Here's the story.

Recently I read an interesting book that claims religious war was unknown before monotheism. Polytheisitic cultures were characterized by religious tolerance and liberty. You wouldn't want to offend the gods of your neighbor any more than you'd want to offend your own gods. It wasn't until monotheism with its logic of "Our god is the true god; your god is false and therefore you must die" that religious terrorism, extremism, and war entered the world stage. A passing familiarity with the Old Testament confirms this aspect of holy righteousness. It's an interesting thesis, and I know of no solid counter examples. The question, not addressed in the book, is whether belief alone can lead to fanatical bloodshed, or whether we must address other causes. Phrased another way, has monotheism increased the historical death toll of war, or are we such bloodthirsty creatures that we must look behind external rational and irrational causes of war to something lurking inside us? Interestingly, the values of religious toleration and liberty we cherish in America are not Christian values; they're pagan. Here's an Amazon link to God Against the Gods: The History of the War between Monotheism and Polytheism.

From the Associated Press:

VATICAN CITY - A Vatican cardinal said Thursday the faithful should listen to what secular modern science has to offer, warning that religion risks turning into "fundamentalism" if it ignores scientific reason.

Here's the full story.

In class the other day, I described the civil rights and women movements as examples of societal "evolution." That earned me a strange look from one of my students, a 19-year-old freshman. I was puzzled at first, but then it came to me. "Are you a creationist?" I asked her. After she nodded, I asked, "You believe everything was created 10,000 years ago?" She did. So I asked two more questions: "How do you account for the fact that light from distant galaxies takes millions of years to get here?" and "How do you account for the fossil record?" She shrugged, and I, not wanting to deal with angry parents for the terrible sin of challenging unfounded beliefs, moved on to other topics.

I'm reminded of this incident by a Reuters story about the current administration's assault on science.

This website usefully details the various types of Creationism, and places them on a Creation/Evolution spectrum.

At one end are the Flat Earthers, who believe the earth is flat and covered by a solid dome. In the middle are the Progressive Creationists, who hold that God created the species sequentially (thus explaining the fossil record), but that the species are not genetically related. Near the end of the spectrum are the Theistic Evolutionists, who think that God creates through evolution (and who thus accept most of modern science); the pope and mainline protestants are adherents. Finally we get the Philosophical Materialistic Evolutionists, who believe that the supernatural does not exist, that evolution and everything else is a natural process.

This summary excludes various positions filling in the gaps. If I had to label my own position, I guess I'd call it Agnostic Evolution. I see no reason to believe that a supernatural agency uses evolution to create life, but since it's difficult to prove a negative, I admit I don't know.

Proponents of Creationism have no way to prove their accounts and must rely on faith and "common sense" -- i.e., it is obvious that the complexity we see in nature required an intelligent designer. They attempt to give a "scientific" flavor to their arguments by attacking specifics of evolutionary theory(ies). However, attacking evolution does not prove creationism, so this approach is logically flawed. Creationists also attempt to confuse the matter by relying on the popular definition of "theory" as a guess. Thus, semantically, they attempt to give Creation "Theory" the same epistemologial standing as Evolution Theory.

In science, a "theory" is more than guesswork; it is an account that has withstood rigorous scientific inquiry and is, thus far, the account that most adequately explains/encompasses the available data. A "hypothesis" has less epistemological standing -- it is an account that appears to encompass some of the available data but requires more scrutiny. A hallmark of the scientific method is that any account must be testable. Creationism is not testable, and thus is not a theory or even a hypothesis.

Because of the limitations of the scientific method, some areas of inquiry are out of bounds. The questions of whether humans have a soul or whether there is a god fall within the realm of religion, not science. They belong in the church, not in the science classroom.

Kansas is a battleground state in the war between Creationism and Evolution. Here's an excerpt from the July 2005 Acts & Facts, the newsletter of the Institute for Creation Research:

The Kansas State Board of Education earlier this year began an effort to increase openness in their science curriculum, including that portion related to the origins issue. Two versions of state science guidelines were considered in mid-May; the “majority” report, an evolution-only version used over the past few years, and the “minority” report, which encouraged the desired openness and the honing of critical thinking skills. Predictably, evolutionists responded with hysteria and refused to testify before the committee, declining to “dignify non-scientific theories” with their presence. Dozens of witnesses discussed the weaknesses of evolution theory and the obvious design of living things.

Note the rhetorical strategies at play. Creationists seek open inquiry and the honing of critical thinking skills. Evolutionists are hysterical and close-minded. Evolution theory is weak; there is an obvious design(er) of living things. First off, evolution theory is not weak; it is the most comprehensive and scientifically verified account for the creation of the species that exists. (For detailed examination and refutation of Creationist claims about weaknesses in evolution theory, click here). At any rate, the tactic is to attempt to appear reasonable and to ignore that science and religion have different standards for determining valid claims. It is an attempt to get God into the classroom, to break down the barrier between church and state. Now, if the state actually suppressed religion, breaking down this barrier could be liberating. But religion is a powerful factor in American life -- there are dozens of churches in every community, our president describes himself as a Christian, virtually every elected official claims to be Christian. A common feature of religion is that, in general, it suppresses open inquiry, it requires faith, not the verifiable testing of propositions.

The Institute for Creation Research does not disguise its agenda. Here is an excerpt from its homepage:

We believe God has raised up ICR to spearhead Biblical Christianity's defense against the godless and compromising dogma of evolutionary humanism. Only by showing the scientific bankruptcy of evolution, while exalting Christ and the Bible, will Christians be successful in “the pulling down of strongholds; casting down imaginations, and every high thing that exalteth itself against the knowledge of God, and bringing into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ” (II Corinthians 10:4,5).

So much for fostering critical thinking skills.

Update: From Natural Science Magazine comes a special report on Intelligent Design, a species of creationism. And, for fun, here are The Top 10 Intelligent Designs (or Creation Myths).

Further Update: This page lists the scientific credentials of some outspoken Creationist scientists. Here's an example:

Harold S. Slusher, formerly of the Institute for Creation Research, is best known for his critiques of radiometric dating techniques. He is also known for the rather bizarre suggestion that the universe is much smaller than it appears, because its geometry is Riemannian as opposed to Euclidean. Slusher claims to hold an honorary D.Sc. from Indiana Christian University and a Ph.D. in geophysics from Columbia Pacific University. Robert Schadewald discovered that Indiana Christian University is a Bible College with only a 1/2 man graduate science department. As for Columbia Pacific, it "exhibits several qualities of a degree mill." Ronald Numbers describes CPU as an unaccredited correspondence school that recruited students with the lure of a degree "in less than a year." Slusher's dissertation consisted of a manila folder containing copies of five memographed ICR "technical monographs" and a copy of the ICR graduate school catalog, all held together with a rubber band. The supervising professor was his creationist colleague from El Paso and the ICR, [Thomas] Barnes, who himself possessed only an honorary doctorate.

According to Bears' Guide, Columbia Pacific was denied its application for state license renewal in early 1996 for undisclosed reasons. The university appealed the decision in late 1996, but the appeal had not been acted upon by the time Bears' Guide went to press.

According to Quackwatch, Columbia Pacific was ordered in 1999 by the Marin County Superior Court to stop operating illegally in the state of California. Columbia Pacific then moved to Montana but closed a year later. Here's background on the diploma mill and its troubles with the law.

Check out this billboard in a Tokyo subway station. It's a special Christmas advertisement for the movie The Passion of Christ.

It's about time. The Religious Right, which has claimed the high moral ground in defense of the criminal activities of our current federal government, finally is being countered by the Religious Left, which believes economic justice, equality, and environmental stewardship are fundamentally moral issues. Who would Jesus bomb, indeed?

Check out the website of the Christian Alliance for Progress, an organization that seeks to reclaim Christianity from those who promote bigotry and ignorance.

I'm not particularly religious. I'm much more concerned with how people behave than with what they believe. One of the beefs I've long had against mainstream religious organizations is that they rarely seem to stand up to the obvious charlatans, the Robert Tiltons, Jimmy Swaggarts, and others who, for their own personal enrichment, prey upon the weak and gullible.

So I was pleased to come across a blog by a progressive Christian who takes on these abusers of faith. It helps confirm what I already believed from personal experience: many religious folk are good people revolted by hucksters exploiting man's natural desire to seek meaning.

A recent entry:

Well friends, I feel that I have been called (yes, called) to change the primary focus of this blog. While there will still be articles on many challenges facing Christianity today, the majority of the posts will focus on the so-called "Prosperity Gospel" and those who preach it (the media-barons of heaven). I also plan to do some examining of the problems facing the United Methodist Church, and other mainline denominations.

Shortly after, the blog takes on Jesse Duplantis Ministries. Ol' Jesse says it's God's will that you pony up the cash to get him a corporate jet. Be sure to check out the slick video clip, no doubt divinely inspired.

Answers in Genesis hosts an online version of The Creation Museum, which is under construction in Petersburg, Kentucky. Dedicated to the proposition that God was in a damned hurry and only had six days, it purports to show how the world was created. Here's a virtual walk-through of the museum.

The site offers books, video archives, webcasts (I can't wait for the upcoming webcast titled "Jupiter's Moons: It's No Garden of Eden"), a handy way to donate online, and all kinds of consumer-oriented ways to make money. (Funny how you don't hear much about the poverty of Christ from these types.)

This would be amusing if it didn't threaten to make people even dumber than they already are. I'm trying to ensure my daughter gets a good education, but we live in a country in which metaphor is an insurmountable intellectual challenge.

So after class today this kid in my class asks me if I'm an atheist and I can tell he really kinda wants me to say yes but I'm not really sure about these sorts of things since well being an atheist means expending energy actually thinking about religion and all I can think about when I think about religion these days is the election and how if most of my extended family had stayed home on November 2nd we'd have a president who might actually not lead us to Armageddon but then this other student from a previous class this kid who had some kind of behavioral problem and kept interrupting my lectures with thirty-second homilies on general Jesus-freakiness conspiracy theory creation science dinosaurs were Noah's gentle pets kinda shit this kid walks by and re-annoys me so I say yes, but I'm praying about it.

Since NinjaWife scrubbed my computer and sent all of my porn and other bookmarks to the digital wasteland, it took me a while to re-discover this website, where you and all the kids can learn about science-free Jesus and the pitfalls of talking to Mr. Gruff the atheist goat. That's Vikki, aka NinjaWife, over there to the right. Doesn't she have great boobs? Isn't she just tough as hell? I'm going to buy her motorcycle.

Oh yeah, and read this. It gets the Mr. Gruff stamp of approval.

A Bit o' Nifty reader sent me some E-mail commenting on an earlier post where I asserted that a quality of good music is that it does not seek conversion. I was directed to Beethoven's Missa Solemnis as an "exception that proves the rule."

After spending some time with it, I find that the very section in which doctrine is espoused, the "Credo," is the section I have the most trouble with, not on a doctrinal or music-theory level, mind, but as a listener of music. (I know nothing of music theory except those moments when it's hijacked by literary theory, and that from some time ago.) I'm listening to the 1989 John Eliot Gardiner version (Archv #429779), and the liner notes, which I don't intend to rely upon here too terribly much because they color my reading, quote the music historian Donald Tovey: Beethoven "brings out an overwhelming and overwhelmed sense of the Divine glory, with which he invariably and immediately contrasts the nothingness of man." That's certainly somewhere to start when listening to this Mass. More on the "Credo" below.

Theodor Adorno (if Trent's not going to use the big heavyweights, I am) says that, "there is something peculiar about the Missa Solemnis." And there is. The opening "Kyrie" is a glorious plea for the Lord's mercy--seriously, if you're into the Romantic, you need to listen to this. But nothing abnormal or "conversion-oriented" struck me in this passage. After the "Kyrie," things begin to get complicated and one's mind runs to the Ninth Symphony for something to compare. I'm not so sure this is a Mass by the time I get halfway through the "Gloria" section and certainly not, oddly enough, by the end of "Credo." "Credo" is complicated and tough; it's surprising the soloists can get through some of the passages. Over and over, Beethoven asserts a belief system that will serve as the underpinnings for his later petitionary position before God. And so I can't ignore the "Credo," and thus the focus on conversion in the piece. Again, Beethoven asserts absolutely that one must buy into the belief structure if one wants to approach God in the later sections, "Sanctus" and "Agnus Dei." That's not to say that the two sections after the "Credo" ("Sanctus" and "Agnus Dei") aren't accessible and enjoyable and transporting listened to by themselves. It's just that, having listened to the "Credo," I find that I'm lying to myself if I ignore it. Missa Solemnis is certainly a piece intensely and intimately concerned with faith and belief, with the relationship between glorious, omnipotent God and feeble, lowly man, but it goes one step beyond to raise a question: are we worthy to experience God's mercy and, then, to receive his peace, especially when we are so bent upon our own destruction?

The concluding "Agnus Dei" I listened to over and over with wonder and delight. I've never heard such a petition for the mercy of God, then the peace of God, delivered so far beyond the personal. The personal is in the piece, but Beethoven moves to the greater scope of the world and politics to consider the larger body of mankind. The music, near the end of the Mass, begins to echo war—at one point the tympani go way over the top, like cannon fire. Certainly, this is the context in which we most need to be granted mercy and peace.

Never so much than now, when war rages and the dominant Christian option in this country is to use God as a foundation for rage against the heathens. Beethoven gives us quite another option. If you're going to ask for peace, you'd better have a foundation in doctrine. But also, if you're going to believe, ask for mercy and peace, not a sword.

Dona nobis pacem: Grant us peace.

Thanks, Roy.

Perhaps the best work both on Jesus as God and Man, and on the influence of Paul on Christianity, is The Last Temptation of Christ, by Nikos Kazantzakis.

In a conversation about my most recent blog entry, Trent asked me about the original twelve apostles.

Which reminded me of a song I used to sing in Vacation Bible School.

The lyrics, sung to the tune of "Bringing in the Sheaves," are as follows:

There were twelve disciples Jesus called to help him:
Simon Peter, Andrew, James, his brother John,
Philip, Thomas, Matthew, James the son of Alphaeus,
Thaddeus, Simon, Judas, and Bartholomew.
He has called us, too. He has called us, too.
We are His disciples, I am one and you!
He has called us, too. He has called us, too.
We are His disciples, I am one and you!

Listen to the song yourself.

We also practiced sword drills in Vacation Bible School, but that's a story for another time. I did win, however, four Bibles as trophies, four years in a row.

For the last few days I've been reading the Apostle Paul--specifically, the beginning of the letter to the Romans, the two we have out of four letters to the Corithians, and the letter to the Galatians.

When I was younger, maybe 20 years ago or so, I spent most of my freshman year in an evangelical Christian organization. The letters of Paul were often used to inspire the group and exhort them to "share the gospel," to lead others to salvation--in effect, to proselytize. Proselytizing isn't necessarily a bad thing, if it's what the religion dictates.

Having been raised in the Baptist church, and as an active member in the youth group of the church, I had a firm background in and good grasp of its evangelical tenets. Indeed, I participated in and led a good number of missionary outings, sometimes to resort destinations such as Ocean City and Virginia Beach, and oftentimes to inner city housing projects in and around Washington, D.C. On several occasions, I preached at both morning and evening Sunday worship services, at times to congregations numbering more than 1000.

With that kind of background, I stepped into a leadership role in the first organization that approached me in college. By October, I was the group's president and main speaker at its weekly meeting. When the group grew, however, the national organization sent in paid leadership. Often, I found myself at odds with the organization, particularly when I took a month to lead a study of the book of Ruth, finding it applicable to college age Christians away from the comforts of home, in new surroundings. The story of Ruth finding peace while "in the alien corn" struck me as a fine parallel to out-of-place believers in a strange and overwhelming environment.

As the spring semester drew to a close, I was taken aside and encouraged--"exhorted," I believe was the term--to teach the heavily evangelical portions of the Pauline epistles and to lead a group of young men in sharing the gospel with other college students. What this meant, in practical terms, was to approach other students and get them, on the spot, to pray for salvation.

I had some problems with this. Specifically, I believed that simply leading a life dictated by the life of Jesus would draw others into conversation. Second, I believed that meeting the general needs of others would lead them to inquire about the source of such good will. On a college level, this meant sympathizing with those in any kind of physical or emotional pain. On a global level, this meant organizing to meet the needs of those without homes or food or families.

After a good bit of dickering, I was asked to step down as a leader and eventually left the organization. At the beginning of my sophomore year, I walked out on a church service when the pastor claimed that Christians should put evangelism before, say, feeding the hungry.

I was confused, angry, shocked, hurt. I tried again to be involved about a year later when asked to be interim summer youth minister at a church in Portsmouth, VA. This adventure failed for similar reasons.

Then I discovered the study and practice of poetry. And a few years after, teaching. For many years, I thought that my penchant for writing poetry and my success as a professor supplanted my need to be involved with religion, and that my gifts as a teacher were the true end of what I had been searching for.

But a few things continue to niggle. Why has evangelical Christianity come to dominate the church in America? Why does evangelism take precedence over Biblical scholarship? Why should my experiences in the church of my youth preclude any engagement with scripture? How did one brand of Christianity and my subsequent rejection of it divorce me from Christianity of any kind?

The words of Paul, as they're translated and interpreted by evangelical scholars, transform the life of Jesus into an evangelical religion. What's crazy, what is completely nuts, is that at no time in my experiece as an evangelical Christian in high school and college, did anyone mention that definitely three and perhaps all four of the canonical gospels were written after Paul's epistles. Two of the synoptic gospels, Luke and Mark, are attributed to followers and companions of Paul. Mark was, in effect, the apostle Peter's secretary. At no time did any leader or preacher in the evangelical church mention to me a timeline.

Of late, I've become interested in the Bible again. I've taken the book off the shelf. After all, it is one of the foundations of our civilization, and its influence is as profound as it ever has been, what with Christian culture pitted against Muslim culture around the world. The horror in Iraq was started and is perpetuated by a president grounded up to his knees in the kind of evangelical Christianity I experienced in my youth--an amalgam of Old Testament wrath and New Testament salvation.

What gives?

At the beginnings of both the book of Second Corithians and the book of Galatians, Paul spends an eighth of each letter writing an explanation of why his version of Christianity should be accepted as true for the new churches. The churches were splintering into factions. In Corinth, some Christians were incorporating pre-Christian beliefs and practices (including secular, sexual ones), and across Galatia, congregations were becoming influenced by Jewish Christians who preached the necessity of circumcision and Mosaic law.

In his letters, Paul demands acceptance as an apostle, as one who received truth and a mandate directly from Christ, even though he had never met Jesus. He claimed to be an apostle just as the chosen twelve were. (He doesn't, by his own admission, meet the original apostles for another three years.) On his blinding experience on the road to Damascus he predicates his authority. Any other system of belief is heresy.

Well.

Perhaps a wrathful evangelism cloaked in words of love isn't what Christ preached at all. The gospels are works written after the religion and its main missionary were well established.

It's time for another look.

Look at this. Compare the words of Jesus in the Pauline epistles and the words of Jesus in the gospels. Please recall that many of the words of Paul were written first. Make your own decision.

Which came first--the religion, or the Man?

A marketing research type called me today asking a bunch of questions about recent DVD releases. In the course of the survey, I failed to rate The Passion of Christ as a family film. This shocked the interviewer out of her presumably monitored script. "Why?" she asked. "Because I don't think my six-year-old needs to watch an extended torture scene," I replied.

This prompted from her a lecture about the sacrifice Christ made to save the world, and if that weren't something a six-year-old should know about, she didn't know what was. At this point I realized discussion was useless, but, gamely, I tried. Now, I'm not particularly religious, at least not in the conventional sense having to do with a personified god, an organizational structure, and sacred text. I'm much more concerned with how people behave, not what they believe. (Thinking otherwise leads to war, heretic burnings, and suicide bombings.) So, I asserted that what made Jesus special were the lessons he taught and the life he lived, and as far as the sacrifice goes, many have given their lives for others.

This was not an acceptable answer. To her, the single most important fact about Jesus was that he gave his life to save the rest of us sinners from eternal torment.

At that point, I gave up, and got through the survey as quickly as possible. But it did cause me to think a bit.

The story of Jesus is astounding, and his message of charity and love is profound in world historical terms. But by being elevated to the divine, he ceases to be human, he ceases to be an inspiration to others in how to live their lives. Inspiring us is not the message of the Christian religion; rather, it's that we must seek forgiveness for being flawed from the being that made us flawed. Instead of being inspired to greatness, we must be humble, we must focus on our sins, our failings. We don't get into Heaven by following Jesus' example; we get in by begging forgiveness and by accepting Christ as the savior. It's not that we should strive to be like Jesus, it's that we should accept we can never be like Jesus. In other words, the perfectly good moral example of Jesus, the quintessentially decent human being, has been ruined by Christianity.

Maybe that's why I like Socrates; he assumes the essential goodness, and not depravity, of man. Further, he does not require unquestioning faith but rather the diligent exercise of reason in conversations conducted in good will. To my thinking, we approach the divine by engaging other minds, and not by confusing metaphorical with literal truth.

A few days ago, I received an unsolicited book in the mail, something called Love, Truth, and Perception. That comma before the "and" in the title is mine--I'm a curmudgeon when it comes to grammar rules, especially when I can use punctual grumpiness as one more thing to hold against (or hurl at) an author.

The title, the subtitle ("Where do we come from?What are we? Where are we going?"), the name of the publisher (Joy Publications), and the presentation of the author's name as "Kathy Oddenino, RN" (any letters after an author name usually doom the book to a reject pile behind the cat box), caused me to shun opening the thing and assume I was the target of some scam. I searched for an attached invoice (present, but with a balance of $0.00), scoured the box for bits of paper threatening a chunk of volumes from Joy Publishing if I didn't return the thing immediately, sifted through the packing material for warnings, gift cards, and nonsense. I found nothing to point me in any direction and so tossed box and book atop a wardrobe to reserve as evidence should I in fact receive from Joy Publishing 27 similarly titled tomes accompanied by a hefty bill.

Little dust it gathered. The next day a nice (and personal, really) note from Ms. Oddenino's personal assistant arrived. Apparently, my only non-evangelical, non-bible-thumping aunt has been a student of Ms. Oddendino's for some time and had, in course, passed on information about me and some of my interests (poetry, say) and general complaints (religious hypocrisy, in this case). I have come to find that my aunt has for spiritual comfort taken up with a group of proselytizing weirdos.

I fetched Love, Truth, and Perception from its perch, read part of the first chapter, and skimmed the rest.

This bloated bilge of self-help blather contains

• pseudo-terminology: "spirit-connected, "spirit consciousness"
• brow furrowing definitions: "sleep--our way of giving equal time to our subconscious and unconscious mind by focusing away from the conscious mind of the intellect and into the soul and spirit."[huh?]
• arbitrary sets of spiritual truths: "Beliefs and behaviors can be copied but not firmly pattered within our mind until the second Law of Sevens." [Reading the entire list of "Laws of Sevens" makes one yearn for the spiritual coherence of L. Ron Hubbard.]
• mumbo-jumbo: "The soul of our society is reflected from the energy of our soul. If our soul is our individual, microcosmic experience of living through competition and conflict, our society is living the mesocosmic soul experience as a relfection of our beliefs and behaviors using competition and conflict." [mesocosmic?]
• nutty oversimplification: "The solution to the crisis created by all criminal activities is to shift the mind from fear to love." [before I hand over my wallet, or after?]
• silly false etymology: "We were seeking those elements around us that we could design into a physical body that would serve us as a physical tool as we learned how to become a Higher Universal Mana, or HUMAN. This was the name given to us by the Creator"
• just plain dumb writing: "All of history is written from the perception of the mind and its beliefs, using the level of aware consciousness that the mind has reached."

If you want to explore the underpinnings of the Oddendino methodology and can stomach a great deal of mushy pablum and crappy pap, feel free to visit The Institute of Metaphysical Studies.

In the mid seventies, when I was a lad, I used to love visiting Aunt Ellen's apartment, heavy with macrame and teeming with cats. She had neat art on the walls, full bookshelves, plants everywhere, and beer in the fridge. Her place felt friendly and warm. Non-judgemental. It had some connection to the world while seeming a refuge from it as well. Maybe it's a misapprehension of youth or a trick of memory, but she was the one member of that generation of my family who had, to my mind, escaped the religious rabbit hole.

Thirty years later, I get this book in the mail. I'm familiar with only bits and pieces of Ellen's life story in the interim and I'm happy she's found something to help her get through and perhaps understand the vagaries of this life.

And I'm aware that sarcastic deconstruction of a text is a partial defense against self-examination.

But the way I saw my aunt those many years ago, the way I perceived her existence in comparison to my immediate family's, gave me some hint that one could live in the world, suffer its bruises, and find solace in plants, cats, books, beer.

Those childhood visits to Ellen's apartment crafted more of my consciousness than any passing bit of self-help literature.

Does she, I wonder, know that?