I declare to you, brothers, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable. Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed— in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality. When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: "Death has been swallowed up in victory."
"Where, O death, is your victory?
Where, O death, is your sting?"
The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.
-1 Corinthians 15:50-56
I hope you all have a very happy Easter.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Monday, March 17, 2008
Returning to Land
We have come to port in the fine city of Limassol! As Wikipedia says, it is the second-largest city on the Mediterranean island of Cyprus.
I would like to say more, but I haven't actually seen it yet, as today is my duty day. Tomorrow will be interesting, however.
I would like to say more, but I haven't actually seen it yet, as today is my duty day. Tomorrow will be interesting, however.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
The World Without Us
Alan Weisman's The World Without Us is a thought experiment in which humanity suddenly disappears- from the Rapture, or space aliens who kidnap us, or whatever. The point is that humanity is gone. How long do traces of human civilization last, without anyone to maintain them?
Some things vanish very quickly: most modern architecture is not designed to last for centuries even with human maintenance. Bridges will fall, subway tunnels will fill with water, sidewalks and streets will be broken by weeds, shrubs, and eventually by trees.
Some time ago I posted an article about the recovery of wildlife in the abandoned areas around Chernobyl. Weisman studies the area in detail, since it's a sort of test case for his whole experiment. Wildlife, including large animals, may recover much faster than anyone would expect.
Human-related animals will have a harder time. Cats will do very well; dogs less so. Cockroaches, contrary to what I've always heard about nuclear war, will not do well without humans; they're tropical insects and need constant heat to survive.
The longest-lasting deliberate artifact of humanity may well be Mount Rushmore. The longest-lasting unintentional artifacts will be nuclear wastes, sand-sized particles of plastic, and tires- which, vulcanized into a single superlong molecule, will prove a daunting challenge to any ecological process that tries to break them down.
Some things vanish very quickly: most modern architecture is not designed to last for centuries even with human maintenance. Bridges will fall, subway tunnels will fill with water, sidewalks and streets will be broken by weeds, shrubs, and eventually by trees.
Some time ago I posted an article about the recovery of wildlife in the abandoned areas around Chernobyl. Weisman studies the area in detail, since it's a sort of test case for his whole experiment. Wildlife, including large animals, may recover much faster than anyone would expect.
Human-related animals will have a harder time. Cats will do very well; dogs less so. Cockroaches, contrary to what I've always heard about nuclear war, will not do well without humans; they're tropical insects and need constant heat to survive.
The longest-lasting deliberate artifact of humanity may well be Mount Rushmore. The longest-lasting unintentional artifacts will be nuclear wastes, sand-sized particles of plastic, and tires- which, vulcanized into a single superlong molecule, will prove a daunting challenge to any ecological process that tries to break them down.
Chesterton on Loyalty
From his greatest work, Orthodoxy:
... a man criticises this world as if he were house-hunting, as if he were being shown over a new suite of apartments. If a man came to this world from some other world in full possession of his powers he might discuss whether the advantage of midsummer woods made up for the disadvantage of mad dogs, just as a man looking for lodgings might balance the presence of a telephone against the absence of a sea view. But no man is in that position. A man belongs to this world before he begins to ask if it is nice to belong to it. He has fought for the flag, and often won heroic victories for the flag long before he has ever enlisted. To put shortly what seems the essential matter, he has a loyalty long before he has any admiration.
One of the many appeals of Chesterton is that he makes cheerful, reasonable arguments for things that I never hear anywhere else. When was the last time someone made a justification for blind, uncritical loyalty?
Of course, the loyalty in question is a very primal thing, which seems to be Chesterton's point. We cannot critically evaluate primal questions like "Is life good?" We can only decide.
Shortly later, he discusses the notorious slum of Pimlico:
Let us suppose we are confronted with a desperate thing -- say Pimlico. If we think what is really best for Pimlico we shall find the thread of thought leads to the throne or the mystic and the arbitrary. It is not enough for a man to disapprove of Pimlico: in that case he will merely cut his throat or move to Chelsea. Nor, certainly, is it enough for a man to approve of Pimlico: for then it will remain Pimlico, which would be awful. The only way out of it seems to be for somebody to love Pimlico: to love it with a transcendental tie and without any earthly reason. If there arose a man who loved Pimlico, then Pimlico would rise into ivory towers and golden pinnacles; Pimlico would attire herself as a woman does when she is loved. For decoration is not given to hide horrible things: but to decorate things already adorable. A mother does not give her child a blue bow because he is so ugly without it. A lover does not give a girl a necklace to hide her neck. If men loved Pimlico as mothers love children, arbitrarily, because it is theirs, Pimlico in a year or two might be fairer than Florence.
Some readers will say that this is a mere fantasy. I answer that this is the actual history of mankind. This, as a fact, is how cities did grow great. Go back to the darkest roots of civilization and you will find them knotted round some sacred stone or encircling some sacred well. People first paid honour to a spot and afterwards gained glory for it. Men did not love Rome because she was great. She was great because they had loved her.
... a man criticises this world as if he were house-hunting, as if he were being shown over a new suite of apartments. If a man came to this world from some other world in full possession of his powers he might discuss whether the advantage of midsummer woods made up for the disadvantage of mad dogs, just as a man looking for lodgings might balance the presence of a telephone against the absence of a sea view. But no man is in that position. A man belongs to this world before he begins to ask if it is nice to belong to it. He has fought for the flag, and often won heroic victories for the flag long before he has ever enlisted. To put shortly what seems the essential matter, he has a loyalty long before he has any admiration.
One of the many appeals of Chesterton is that he makes cheerful, reasonable arguments for things that I never hear anywhere else. When was the last time someone made a justification for blind, uncritical loyalty?
Of course, the loyalty in question is a very primal thing, which seems to be Chesterton's point. We cannot critically evaluate primal questions like "Is life good?" We can only decide.
Shortly later, he discusses the notorious slum of Pimlico:
Let us suppose we are confronted with a desperate thing -- say Pimlico. If we think what is really best for Pimlico we shall find the thread of thought leads to the throne or the mystic and the arbitrary. It is not enough for a man to disapprove of Pimlico: in that case he will merely cut his throat or move to Chelsea. Nor, certainly, is it enough for a man to approve of Pimlico: for then it will remain Pimlico, which would be awful. The only way out of it seems to be for somebody to love Pimlico: to love it with a transcendental tie and without any earthly reason. If there arose a man who loved Pimlico, then Pimlico would rise into ivory towers and golden pinnacles; Pimlico would attire herself as a woman does when she is loved. For decoration is not given to hide horrible things: but to decorate things already adorable. A mother does not give her child a blue bow because he is so ugly without it. A lover does not give a girl a necklace to hide her neck. If men loved Pimlico as mothers love children, arbitrarily, because it is theirs, Pimlico in a year or two might be fairer than Florence.
Some readers will say that this is a mere fantasy. I answer that this is the actual history of mankind. This, as a fact, is how cities did grow great. Go back to the darkest roots of civilization and you will find them knotted round some sacred stone or encircling some sacred well. People first paid honour to a spot and afterwards gained glory for it. Men did not love Rome because she was great. She was great because they had loved her.
Monday, March 3, 2008
Helliconia Winter
Brrr!
This one was seasonally appropriate; I mostly read it while curled up in my blankets at home, wishing that it were summer already. But circumstances interrupted, and I wasn't able to finish it until recently, out here.
Brian Aldiss' Helliconia is a planet whose seasons last for several centuries. In that sense, it's conceptually similar to George R.R. Martin's Song of Fire and Ice series. But the resemblance pretty much ends there: in Martin's series, the extended seasons are a background detail which may or may not ever come up again; in Helliconia Winter, the change of seasons is the whole thrust of the plot.
The tone is dry and somewhat anthropological; there are several interesting characters, but the real appeal of the novel is seeing how society adapts to a seasonal change that they don't even have the records to remember; and then noting the hints that all of these changes are part of an ecological balancing act. Helliconia's humans seem to be "wired into" their planet's ecology in a much more direct way than Earth humans.
There are apparently two more novels: as you might expect, they're named "Helliconia Spring" and "Helliconia Winter." When I get home, I'll probably have to look them up.
This one was seasonally appropriate; I mostly read it while curled up in my blankets at home, wishing that it were summer already. But circumstances interrupted, and I wasn't able to finish it until recently, out here.
Brian Aldiss' Helliconia is a planet whose seasons last for several centuries. In that sense, it's conceptually similar to George R.R. Martin's Song of Fire and Ice series. But the resemblance pretty much ends there: in Martin's series, the extended seasons are a background detail which may or may not ever come up again; in Helliconia Winter, the change of seasons is the whole thrust of the plot.
The tone is dry and somewhat anthropological; there are several interesting characters, but the real appeal of the novel is seeing how society adapts to a seasonal change that they don't even have the records to remember; and then noting the hints that all of these changes are part of an ecological balancing act. Helliconia's humans seem to be "wired into" their planet's ecology in a much more direct way than Earth humans.
There are apparently two more novels: as you might expect, they're named "Helliconia Spring" and "Helliconia Winter." When I get home, I'll probably have to look them up.
Zorachus
I haven't only fallen behind on my blogging, I've gotten behind on my reading as well. Grrr.
Zorachus is a dark fantasy novel by Mark E. Rogers. The protagonist is a saintly young wizard who is thrust into a position of power and wealth in a very dark and corrupt city. What does he do with it? Can he do anything good with it?
There's lots of interesting philosophical discussion, and much of the novel seems to be set up something like a thought experiment. Khymir, the evil city, isn't just corrupt; it was actually founded and maintained by a demon as a proof that life is evil.
Zorachus is an immensely powerful wizard, and his position gives him enough wealth and social status to do almost anything. So his options, against this dark background, are wide-open: he can pursue almost any plan for reform that comes to his mind.
But how do you make people better, when they not only don't want to be moral: they think that "moral" is a strange kind of mental illness that afflicts people who don't live in Khymir?
Zorachus is a dark fantasy novel by Mark E. Rogers. The protagonist is a saintly young wizard who is thrust into a position of power and wealth in a very dark and corrupt city. What does he do with it? Can he do anything good with it?
There's lots of interesting philosophical discussion, and much of the novel seems to be set up something like a thought experiment. Khymir, the evil city, isn't just corrupt; it was actually founded and maintained by a demon as a proof that life is evil.
Zorachus is an immensely powerful wizard, and his position gives him enough wealth and social status to do almost anything. So his options, against this dark background, are wide-open: he can pursue almost any plan for reform that comes to his mind.
But how do you make people better, when they not only don't want to be moral: they think that "moral" is a strange kind of mental illness that afflicts people who don't live in Khymir?
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Another Plan Foiled!
It seemed perfectly reasonable at the time: since internet access was unreliable at sea, I’d just post via email.
Well.
As it turns out, we haven’t had email lately, either. But such is life. We have it now (obviously) and I’ll try to make up for lost time.
What to say? We’re at sea; therefore we’re not <i>at</i> anyplace in particular, at least subjectively speaking. The landscape is simply the endless sea in all directions; which is compelling or exasperating, depending on your mood.
(We went up on the mast to do some maintenance a while ago; and it’s odd how the difference in perspective changed nothing. From ground level, the sea goes on forever; and when you’re high, high, high off the ground, it still goes on forever. In one of Baxter’s novels, he talks about perspectives that are larger than our eyes are designed to deal with; and I think that this is one of them. Probably that’s why it inspires our imaginations.)
Cosmic intimations of the sea aside, most of the interesting (human, trivial) stuff happens on the ship itself.
Because we’re at sea, they allow <i>no-shave chits</i>. For a few dollars, you can stop shaving for weeks at a time. This is much more convenient than you might think; effectively, it’s the chance to sleep a few extra minutes every morning, and if you’re not a morning person that’s worth a lot.
Convenience aside, my beard comes in thick; and this year, it’s coming in with a fair amount of gray in it. Tsk! When did that happen?
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