Premonitions

Today's entry is about the future.

Firstly, because I need to warn you that the blog might be a little quiet over the next few weeks as I move to a new flat with the very special feature of Uncertain Internets. Got a few ideas in the pipeline, though, so hopefully I'll be able to get online enough to keep this blog up and running.

Secondly, it strikes me that this is an ideal time to introduce a new regular feature here, tying into my status as a pagan atheist. You may or may not know that the Northern European mythologies, with which I most closely relate, contain a system of auguries involving runes. These work in much the same way as the more popular tarot cards, with a number of symbols standing for various ideas.

What I thought I'd do is something of an experiment, in no way scientific, into the practice of using these runes to read my "fortune". After setting up the rules (the method of taking a reading, the meanings of each rune, and any restrictions on interpretation), I'll try to take regular-ish readings and then see how true they turn out to be. So, on with it.

Right from the outset, let me make this clear: this is not a test of the ability of rune-casting to predict the future or disclose facts about the past. The sole purpose of this little exercise is basically to just get an insight into how these readings can be interpreted to fit a normal life with normal events, without the intervention of a cold reader or medium.

My method will be simple: when making a cast, I will shake all the runes in my cupped hands, and carefully let three fall at random, without seeing which they are. Those will be my reading, and the rest put aside for the time being. If a rune lands facing up, its standard meaning will hold sway; if it is face down, I will interpret that as a reversed meaning - for instance, if Eihwaz lands facing up, it means safety; if facing down, it means danger or vulnerability.

Here's a basic list of the runes and their primary meanings. Fehu: wealth. Uraz: strength. Thurisaz: chaos. Ansuz: wisdom. Raido: journey. Kaunaz: fire. Gebo: gift. Wunjo: joy. Hagalaz: disruption. Nauthiz: need. Isa: standstill. Jera: success. Eihwaz: safety. Pertho: future. Algiz: sanctuary. Sowulo: sun. Teiwaz: victory. Berkana: life. Ehwaz: horse. Mannaz: man. Laguz: water. Inguz: fertility. Othila: inheritance. Dagaz: day. Blank: destiny.

So right away we see that runes are representative of some very vague and open-to-interpretation notions. Virtually any reading could probably be twisted to fit the complexities of a normal life. But let's not allow that to dissuade us! This should be fun. So here's the first cast:

Raido. Algiz. A reversed Dagaz.

So a journey, sanctuary, and something that probably represents night. I'd call that a pretty great hit for a first cast - we're moving (or "journeying") to a new flat (or "sanctuary") after all. Not sure what the night part represents, though. I'm led to understand that "day" carries along with it implications of certainty and optimism - as in, daylight is the time to get things done. Is it telling me that this is not the right time for a journey to our new sanctuary? Or is it reflecting our feelings of insecurity about the enterprise? Or perhaps it's referring the the lack of security in my partner's job right now. Hmmmm.

Well this might turn into a regular feature, it might not. Either way, it's always interesting to think about why these methods of prediction and fate-reading are so popular, and why they seem to work so well a lot of the time. As I said, I'm not going to change my mind on this - I don't believe that the rocks I drop with scratches in can tell me what's going to happen next week. It's just something I'm using to gain and share some insight into the interpretation process. I hope you enjoy and value it as much as I do.

The Power of Metaphor, or, Don't Blame Santa

Before I begin, I ought to warn you that there is no real conclusion or argument to be found in this entry; it is rather intended as a collection of musings hoped to inform but primarily provoke further thought. Most of what is contained herein is part of an ongoing internal discussion I'm holding with myself, and this forms something of an update as to the point that that debate has reached. So open your mind, and read on.

I have made mention before of my status as a pagan atheist. It's not just an incidental matter for me, either; while I don't believe the Gods or spirits are actual entities capable of any kind of interaction with this world, I believe they are powerful and practically useful metaphors for a great deal of human life. The Gods we choose for ourselves - if choose them we do - represent those principles which are most important to us. For this reason I tend more toward the Northern European pantheon, in particular the Norse Gods. If I had a Sabbath like the Christian Sunday or Jewish Friday, it would be Wednesday, named for Odin, a.k.a. Woden (Woden's Daeg -> Wednesday) - for he is the figure with whom I most identify.

He is the symbol for wisdom, courage, and honour - among many other things. He is also seen as the guardian of travellers, much as the Christian Saint Christopher. All of these themes are ones which ring true with me: I aspire to be wise, courageous and honourable above all else; I can think of no qualities I would rather possess. There is also an emphasis on respect and reverence for nature in the Northern European religions, which it won't surprise you to find has particular resonance with me.

So why, you might ask, don't I just identify with those qualities directly instead of expressing them through the language of mythology and religious faith? It is a good question, and one which I have asked myself on many an occasion. I think the answer, as far as I can fathom it, lies in what I refer to as the "power of metaphor"; that is, the linguistic and emotional force that can be expressed only in terms of phenomena that transcend the physical, evidential world. Humanity is known for being a fickle race, and a claimed devotion to an abstract concept such as justice seems to hold less force, somehow, than a claimed devotion to a deity personifying that concept. It is an appeal to the eternal nature of these ideals as opposed to the sometimes-fleeting nature of humanity's adherence to them.

Another example of this that I recently found out about (thanks to my friend the Nietzschean feminist) is Laveyan satanism, which again is essentially an atheist religion. The ideals it favours are individualism, a realistic approach to humanity's darker impulses and an acceptance of these drives as an inevitable an essential component of understanding what it is to be human. There is also a strong element of anarchism, a rebelliousness and hostility toward authority that is reflected in few other mythologies. But it is atheist - and specifically non-Christian, a claim which cannot be made by theistic Satanism - because it entails a commitment to these ideals only, not a belief in a literal Satan or lesser demons. There is much in LaVeyan Satanism which rings true with me and values which are shared by the pagan faith.

On a tangentally-related topic, I also want to address the topic of Santa Claus - not as a metaphor, but as a belief tantamount to religion but treated as a socially-acceptable falsehood. This line of thought comes from listening to my backlog of Point of Inquiry podcasts, specifically the interview with Todd C. Riniolo. He noted an objection to the widely-used argument in sceptical circles that it is little wonder that people are credulous in adulthood when they are raised to believe in Santa Claus as children. It is rarely used as a forceful argument, usually instead forming a arbitrary comment; but nonetheless is worth addressing. Riniolo's objection is that there is simply no proof that belief in Santa during childhood leads to credulity in adulthood. Indeed, he argues, the "debunking" of Santa constitutes many a child's first truly sceptical activity.

I thought this was a very interesting point, and it contributed to an ongoing internal debate I've been conducting with regards to how best to raise a child in the sceptical mindset. It hasn't helped me make up my mind on the subject, but has made a significant contribution to the complexity of the issue. Is it wrong to lie to one's children in this regard, or is it a valuable experience that teaches them that deception (harmless or otherwise) is everywhere and that nobody is to be trusted implicitly? On a personal note, I think I "grew out of" notions like God and spiritualism around the same time as I did the notion of Santa. I don't recall being annoyed at the deception, either; at some point it just became a childish absurdity and I scoffed at my parents for persisting in the charade.

So would it be better or worse to deny one's child this experience? Should we rather explain as best we can the lessons that would be learned through it, rather than perpetuate the white lies? At the very least, it seems that the lies do less harm than one might think.

Point of Empathy

It was with a certain sense of anticipation that I read a recent entry on Skepchick, entitled My Confession. Not because I thought it was finally Rebbecca declaring her secret crush on me, but because there had been rumblings that Elyse would be telling the tale of her time as a phone psychic. It did not disappoint; what followed was sad, fascinating, and heartbreaking. Go read it now, because if you don't then I'm talking to the wall - this post was entirely inspired by that one.

Usually when I hear something like that, I search for what might be called a point of empathy: something in my own life which I can use to relate to what's going on in the other person's life. In this case, the loss of her sister brought a comparison with the loss of my father, 6 years ago. Did I cope in the same or similar way that Elyse was trying to? My immediate reaction was no - I didn't consciously turn to anything for comfort initially. But then I remembered the Wicca Incident, and realised my story of loss may have a lot more in common with Elyse's than I had first thought.

It started, as these things so often do, with my girlfriend at the time (she will naturally remain anonymous here, but for the sake of all those potentially abused pronouns and synonyms, let's call her Alicia. I will not be speculating on her motivations). She was far more spiritual than I was, but being as I was young and in love, it didn't stay that way for long. I've always been fascinated by mythology and magic, so it was perhaps only natural that when spiritualism came calling, it was in the form of Wicca. Normally I would just take an interest, and study it objectively; but Alicia was of the belief that to fully understand you had to experience first-hand. So we became Wiccans.

It was only a matter of time before I applied my new faith in the supernatural (and hopelessly vague) concept of "energy" and some kind of spirit world to the recent loss of my father (for anyone interested in the chronology, Alicia and I started our relationship around 7 months after my father's death; the Wicca came a month or two after that). It was the first time I'd truly dealt with the emotions of it, and I don't know if it was the belief system or just having someone that close to me to confide in, but I finally cried. 8 or 9 months after his death, I finally started mourning for him. I will always be indebted to Alicia for that, at least.

It was the ouija board that finally did it. While I hadn't heard of the ideomotor effect, I was fairly certain that ouija boards involved some trickery, be it conscious or not. Yet somehow Alicia convinced me that we had contacted the spirit of my father, and that it would be a good idea to go tell my mum this bit of news. I will never forget her reaction, and we haven't spoken of it since - and not in one of those "unspoken agreement" things. She actually told me that we would never mention it again. I try not to have any regrets in my life - but it's hard to think of this incident any other way. Is it possible to feel ashamed but not count it as a regret?

I wouldn't go so far as to say that this was what set me on the path to what I now recognise as scepticism; like Elyse, I was already heading that way anyway - mostly because of a secular, open-minded upbringing. But I think this was when I first realised the harm that these practices can cause. My heart was no longer in the Wicca, and I gave it up completely when I split with Alicia; the only thing I kept was the name I created for myself and which I now use as my internet pseudonym.

It is because of this episode in my life that I feel able to empathise with people who turn to spiritualism and pseudoscience in order to cope with the loss of a loved one. I can also empathise with those who find it wanting. I am ashamed of what happened, yes, but I do not regret it; because, after the complex interplay of cause and effect had woven their magic, it turns out to have been another push along the road to scepticism and rationality. I cannot regret anything that has brought me here.

Away Turf

One of the more commented posts here recently was Home Turf, in which I inveighed at some length regarding the logically necessary divide between science and religion. Religion is fine, I concluded, as long as it remains in the private sphere.

My good friend Von made a comment which brought to attention something which was left unsaid (though perhaps implied) in my original rant - why religion is actually OK at all.

There is no doubt in my mind whatsoever that religion has played a positive role in a great many lives. The advantages it brings are almost too numerous to list, but here's a cursory top-of-the-head job: removes/reduces fear of death; provides consolation after a loss; creates a sense of wonder; absolves from guilt; "explains" everything; provides cast-iron moral code; binds communities together... I could go on, but I won't.

These are the things which should be celebrated about religion; but they should not be considered - as they so often are - the sole domain thereof. As an atheist, I am truly and profoundly insulted when people argue that atheism means amorality; I don't fear death because all evidence suggests that it is the absence of experience, and it is thus senseless to fear it; and a sense of wonder is certainly no stranger to me - nature in all its complex splendour is quite amazing enough without having to resort to supernature.

But isn't it more interesting (and fruitful) to discuss these issues, like the true value of religion and the role it might, should, does - or not - play in society? Rather than obsessing over complete and eternal non-starters like the verifiability of deities? Religious-types: stop offering proof. Scientific-types: stop demanding it.

The first step in looking for meaningful answers is to ask meaningful questions.

A world without wonder

"For me, it is better to grasp the Universe as it really is than to persist in delusion, however satisfying and reassuring."
-- Carl Sagan

I've always been someone who wanted the truth. Something my friends learn early on is that if there's something bad going on, I want to know about it - don't lie to me to save my feelings or anything like that. I'd rather be miserable knowing the truth than blissfully ignorant. This is probably why I'm a sceptic and an agnostic rather than a believer in any non-evidence-based world view. Many of those who do choose a religious basis for their life (or have one thrust upon them, for that matter) see non-theism as an empty way of life, devoid of spirituality and any sense of wonder.

Now watch this:

All we need to do for a sense of wonder is look at the world and the universe around us - how can you fail to be amazed at the astounding things you can find there? Ask any atheist if their life is empty and meaningless because of their "lack of faith", and they'll tell you it most certainly is not. A great example is Phil Plait, an astronomer and writer who maintains a blog which is simply bursting with enthusiasm and wonder every time a new image is brought back from Mercury or some galaxies out in the Black are doing something wacky.

And you don't even need to look that far for wonders - right here on our Pale Blue Dot, we've got wonders aplenty. See if you can spot the octopus in this here picture:

Not quite sure? Watch this video. This octopus features at the end of the presentation, which is well worth watching. [hat-tip]

As for the claim that atheists lack any sort of spiritualism, I direct your attention to SpiritualAtheism.org, though to be fair it defines "spiritual atheism" in a different way to that which I would use. It seems to be describing more of a pantheism, a way of seeing "God" as a personification of the universe. A more helpful place to look for a definition of "spiritual atheism" as I understand it (a humanist or naturalist outlook) is this article from American Chronicle:

"...most theists are under the impression that atheism is an immoral doctrine that robs life of its meaning and purpose. Hopefully, someone will take up the challenge and eloquently refute this belief. In the meantime, it is my fervent hope that our children’s children inherent a world free from superstition, fear, guilt, arrogance and sin, and that we all learn to embrace a new, spiritual atheism that espouses love and tolerance toward each other, and awe and humility in the face of an endlessly wondrous, but godless, universe."