The New "Religion Vs Science" Thread

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Jan

Mountain climber
Colorado, Nepal & Okinawa
Oct 24, 2014 - 09:49pm PT
Speaking of science and life's existential questions, I just finished a fascinating book called The Snake Charmer about the life and death of Joe Slowinski at age 38. I originally picked it up because he worked for the California Academy of Sciences and it mentions people I worked with there.

The book lets you know in the first few pages that Joe dies of a poisonous snake bite while on expedition, yet the story is riveting anyway. It goes into great detail about herpetologists, particularly those who handle venomous snakes being a peculiar combination of thrill seeking and rational science. The more the author talked about that, the more parallels I could draw with climbers, especially those in the sciences. Both dangerous climbing and handling poisonous snakes are mysteries to the average person and in the end, one is left wondering about a lot of things, and drawing a lot of parallels.

I was also left wondering if one pursuit made any more sense than the other. Having new species of snakes named by you or after you is probably about as doubtful a pursuit as first ascents. If all is nothingness, does it matter? If you die doing what you love, is that better, and for whom?

Definitely a thought provoking book and you learn a lot about biology along the way.
T H

Boulder climber
extraordinaire
Oct 24, 2014 - 09:59pm PT
MH2

climber
Oct 24, 2014 - 10:18pm PT
Werner was right, Pastor Liz.

There are people under my bed, in my closet, and all over my house.






for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return

Genesis 3:19
Ed Hartouni

Trad climber
Livermore, CA
Oct 24, 2014 - 11:00pm PT
Kindred Spirits Asher Brown Durand 1849

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kindred_Spirits

Durand was a member of the Hudson River School.

An exhibition of landscape painting was assembled under the title: American Sublime covered an amazing period of american landscape painting, I saw the exhibition in Philadelphia when it toured... it was astounding.

Gnome Ofthe Diabase

climber
Out Of Bed
Oct 25, 2014 - 08:30am PT
THANK YOU ED
My need for a class in Art History
Has me Piqued.
MikeL

Social climber
Seattle, WA
Oct 25, 2014 - 08:38am PT
Donini: "Faith," believing something for no good reason, . . .


A remarkably stupid and ignorant thing to say.
moosedrool

climber
lost, far away from Poland
Oct 25, 2014 - 08:58am PT
^^^^^^^^

If the "reason" is evidence or logic, than Donini is right.

If the "reason" is it is helping you, than he is wrong.

Moosedrool
Tvash

climber
Seattle
Oct 25, 2014 - 10:20am PT
that is the definition of 'faith' (in the sense that it is used with regards to religion) belief in the absence of evudence.

English. Cool thing to get to know.
Bushman

Social climber
The island of Tristan da Cunha
Oct 25, 2014 - 10:21am PT
'Issues'

Concerning our mother, father, brother, sister, marriage, bedroom, medical, financial, climbing, philosophical, and dying issues;

If issues had tissues,
We'd run to the store,
The problem with pablum?
We'd always want more.

-Bushman

I deleted the 'Poe' poem for now, had to change it some.
Maybe I'll repost it on one of the poetry threads.
Psilocyborg

climber
Oct 25, 2014 - 12:39pm PT
Biotch....Awesome. I have been listening to prarie home companion since I was a child, but really grew to appreciate his storytelling when I started travelling in the early 90's. What a good show all around. Everyone I know now hates it haha.
rrider

climber
Mckinleyville, Ca
Oct 25, 2014 - 12:52pm PT
GK is one of our national mental treasures.
PhilG

Trad climber
The Circuit, Tonasket WA
Oct 25, 2014 - 02:59pm PT
I thought this was interesting:
http://www.npr.org/blogs/13.7/2014/10/20/357519777/are-factual-and-religious-belief-the-same
Jingy

climber
Somewhere out there
Oct 25, 2014 - 03:11pm PT
I have been listening to prarie home companion since I was a child, but really grew to appreciate his storytelling when I started travelling in the early 90's. What a good show all around. Everyone I know now hates it haha.

 Since getting my first cart at age 25, I have been a listener to APHC.. I've gone through phases with it over the years..

It never gets old...
Gnome Ofthe Diabase

climber
Out Of Bed
Oct 25, 2014 - 04:10pm PT
I can see truth be that
Bushman sorry that
When I look through
My little bubble seeing
Is turned inside out
It should just be this
Perfect world
It would be that
Vexing over words
Is futile better
Working forward
No back up



no way MikeL will see so here too I will lay a hiss rant
think cross Peter Lory (hss)& Bill maher(rant)
that you can post here any of you reading this
I need three or four words of encouragement
Go to hurricane Hannah and say something nice
four words that is not much to ask if it is then say three

TODD WAS GREAT

If that is to much then woe this thread.
I can tell that it is not the nature of those
here to hear what some one wants four words

YOUR DADDY WAS GREAT

and any thing that a daughter should hear
do not be a Klaus this means a lot read
the posts and post up no need to thank
me I will be scare if the eight of you will not
be scarce over there if not more tincture rhyme
BLUEBLOCR

Social climber
joshua tree
Oct 25, 2014 - 07:40pm PT
Bushman, i thought that read smooth as Irish butter!

so much i read it twice!

even gave me a good dream
Bushman

Social climber
The island of Tristan da Cunha
Oct 26, 2014 - 05:59am PT
Irish butter you say? I'm easy. I thought I would try out a little free form poetry.
It was not intended as a philosophical statement but was only an interpretation of some really dark dramatic classical music I was listening to lately.
I don't remember what piece, but it motivated me to write the poem.
With minor edits.

'Poe'

One night long ago in a land far away the rain pounded the rooftops,
In a village that sat on the top of a gorge at the foot of a mountain,
Whose forests were swayed as the tempest swept through the teetering tree tops,
And the wild river raged in the gorge down below with a thunderous sound,

From the village there led some steep winding steps to an order of monks,
And their abbey was built near caves that traveled deep into the mountain,
As the rains poured down a lone monk ran up the steps to the abbey,
He was only a lad and was late for his prayers as the midnight bells tolled,

His discomfort was nothing to the stinging reproach he was soon to receive,
As he ran through the doors all the monks and the abbot silently spurned him,
So ignored the young monk took leave to the caves deep in the mountain,
And found refuge and rest in a cool but dry alcove beyond cold rains falling,

When sleep finally came it deposited him to a cradling dream world,
Where warming sunbeams did seek him out through a cleft in the rock,
And drawing up through it his spirit wandered in so dreamlike a state,
That the dust motes sparkled as his soul wafted upwards like smoke,

And he followed the cleft to an opening there way up high on the mountain,
Where the view up on high was such contrast to marvelous beauty below,
Where the sunlight in morning reflected rich hues off the cascading dells,
But above him blue skies were pierced by black spires that sparkled and shone,

Seeing far down below as his village awoke to the glistening sunlight,
Sought out by his eye were the monks on the path to their morning prayers,
But shadows now fell and were cast across the whole of the landscape,
As howling winds were ushering forth a gathering storm,

A foreboding crept over him as he awoke from his dreaming,
And he rushed from the caves to seek forgiveness of the abbot,
But the temple was barred and the winds swept the rains down the mountain,
As his portent unfolded uncurling it's coiled scaly id,

Its manifest presence revealed itself slowly but steadfast,
The river had risen now breaching the chasm below,
The gorge was now filled and in places was overflowing,
As all manner of flora and fauna engulfed was swept by,

Now the villagers struggled and worked to save their belongings,
As the young monk was humbled by pity and trembled with fear,
And he turned up his eyes as he stared with intent at the mountain,
Would a stone describe mayhem and to mankind deliver such plight?

And he flew up the path to the caves running deep in the mountain,
And scrambled the cleft and the chimney that ran up the cliff,
Depositing him to a ledge that looked off the abyss,
As the black spires glowered coldly deliberating fate,

There he knelt at the stone and prostrated himself to its altar,
And prayed for reprieve that the village not be swept away,
When a large wedge of shiest from above was dislodged and was falling,
And splintered to chaff as it struck at his prone outstretched feet,

Then he leapt up in shock and he was sure he was mortally wounded,
But he stumbled on wounds that afflicted not one but both feet,
As he awkwardly fell he spread-eagled to catch at the ledge,
But spiraled off into the abyss and bounced as he hit,

And he tumbled and struck as he fell but was caught and left dangling,
O'er the clutch of death's jaws as he snagged on a juniper bough,
Where he hung and passed out from the pain and the fear and the trauma,
To return once again to a world sweetly cloaked by his dreams,

And there the monks found him all tangled and hung up and bloodied,
And waking his tears flowed and ran down his stubbly brown cheeks,
Then they carried him down as he trembled so humbled and whimpering,
And with sobs he cried out to the world, Look away I'm disgraced!"

So on down through the mountain the monks gently took him to safety,
Where the abbot approached him and quietly whispering he said,
"In these times of strife all men's hearts they are beating as one,
As they fight for their home they will need you now more than you know,"

Then the monk took his silence as rains fell now thrumming in sheets,
With the silence came a stillness compounding his miserable state,
As his mind would rehash his deep and most troubling defects,
As his suffering brought visions of men who tread swirling dark waters,

A vision of men in churning flood waters with millions of rats,
Where none would see their desperate plight nor could they see his grief,
This man child caught up in his self pity and physical suffering,
As he woke now again to stare down at his bound bloodied feet,

So disheartened was he that his state brought with it a new burning thought,
Consuming all else it carried on down to his cold throbbing feet,
Surrounding his limbs the pain was now less though his body felt broken,
As he stretched out all his bruised and swollen tendons and joints,

So he focused his eyes on a point in the room where the window frame split,
To the left of where the light fell a shining star appeared in his eye,
They told him once his mother's name was Norma Falance,
And the orphan in him was still searching for her in the places he kept,

Climbing the steps in the wind and the rain never entered his mind,
To the east he meandered through tumbles of talus and along a dark ledge,
To the face of a tower that shifted in the darkness like black shining glass,
Where his bare feet and hands were chafed by edges and cracks as he climbed,

At the top of the tower all perched on the edge were a jumble of stones,
On the faces below were a series of ledges with rubble and scree,
At the base of the mountain a series of boulders sat balanced in check,
At the top of a canyon upstream from the village and gorge down below,

He never gave thought to the force that was likely to trundle the stone,
As he heaved at the back side the keystone tipped over its balancing point,
He stared at that star as he thought that he saw her for only a glimpse,
As his feet left the edge and he caught at the ledge he could see her again.

In a village that sat on the top of a gorge at the foot of a mountain,
A legend is told of a storm and flood that was nearly the end,
And the miracle of a landslide that damned up the river and saved them,
'Twas an orphan named 'Poe' who was remembering his mother instead.


-bushman
10/24/2014








Bushman

Social climber
The island of Tristan da Cunha
Oct 26, 2014 - 09:10am PT
This one I like enough to post on two threads...

'This Time of Night'

The stars reach out to grab me,
Breaking through the clouds at night,
They warn me of the shadows that fall in the darkness,
Going down to the barking in the light,

The voices that don't care as I walk by,
And the lonely roly racket rail sound of the car tires on the highway,
There are those quiet soft night smells again,
Thats the good wind that comes my way,

It's so right that it's so wrong that it's so right again,
I'm low now where the earth flows,
Those animals on that hill know I'm here,
Breaking now the chatter goes,
They can't block out the cricket near,

But it goes soon enough,
Bird bird bird bird bird,
Screech the cry it tells me,
Like that's its only word,

Turn now turn softly,
I only come to visit the grass,
And the white light to permanent darkness,
When I come back it will last,

Why do I love that song?
The song of the night bird,
It sounds like its happily urgently slowly resting itself,
Step stay bark step stir,

Up it's up ahead,
Those stars are grabbing me my friend,
They take the moments of the night time,
And give them back again.

-Tim Sorenson
10/25/2014


Jingy

climber
Somewhere out there
Oct 26, 2014 - 11:48am PT



jgill

Boulder climber
Colorado
Oct 26, 2014 - 09:03pm PT
Science vs literature & art?

Definition of "emptiness"


Anemic thread.
MikeL

Social climber
Seattle, WA
Oct 26, 2014 - 10:42pm PT
Jgill: Anemic thread.

Yup.

In the end, there is nothing to argue about. It's just THIS. There ain't nuthin else. I'm so amazed at it all everytime I stop and just look.
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