Nontheist Church of St. Christopher Discordian

Apr. 3rd, 2005

12:48 pm - Storytime

Here is a story from the Christian tradition: the tale of St. Christopher, our patron saint.

-=-

Long ago, in the desert land of Canaan, there lived a huge and fearsome man named Reprobus. According to legend, he was 18 feet tall, and so fearsome that all who saw him cowered in fear. His walking-staff was a tree-trunk; his robe the size of an ordinary man's pavilion; his pavilion the size of a house. He wanted very much to find a man even more fearsome than he, so he made it his goal in life to serve a master so powerful he was not afraid of anything.

Reprobus first sought out the most powerful king in all of Canaan, and offered his services as a bodyguard. The king gladly accepted, and Reprobus served him for some time--but one day, a minstrel in the king's court was singing a song which made mention of the name of the Devil, and the king cowered in fear for a moment, and made the sign of the cross. Upon seeing this Reprobus realized that the king was not fearless, and left his service immediately.

Reprobus wandered alone in the desert for some time, hoping to find some clue that would lead him to a more powerful master. By and by, a band of wicked horsemen in dark armor came riding across the desert, led by a tall man in a great horned helmet. The horsemen stopped, and the leader approached Reprobus, saying "What seek you in this desert, Reprobus?"
Reprobus replied "I seek the Devil, that I may enter into his services."
"Then you have found what you seek, Reprobus," cackled the leader, "for I am the very Devil himself!"

And so Reprobus traveled with the Devil's band of highwaymen for some time, running alongside of them, for no beast of burden was great enough to carry him (except perhaps the mighty Auroch, or Behemoth, but it is said that no man can tame him). But one day, as the rode along a highway through the desert, they came upon a cross erected at the roadside, and the Devil turned away in fear.

"What is this?" asked Reprobus. "Are you afraid of the cross?"
"Aye," said the Devil, "for it is the one thing in this world that has power over me!"
"Then I can no longer serve you," said Reprobus, and he turned from the Devil and walked away, and the Devil knew that there was nothing he could do to stop him.

Again Reprobus wandered alone in the desert, until by and by he came to the home of a poor hermit, which had a cross attached to the door. Reprobus knocked on the door, and the hermit opened it, and, unafraid, asked Reprobus "Who are you, and what do you seek here?"
"I am Reprobus," said he, "and I seek to serve the cross."
"Then you seek to serve Christ, Whom it represents," said the hermit.
"Will you teach me to serve Him?" asked Reprobus.

"To serve Christ you must fast," said the hermit.
"I wish to serve Christ, but I will not fast," said Reprobus. "Ask of me some other thing."
"To serve Christ you must pray," said the hermit.
"I wish to serve Christ, but I know not how to pray," said Reprobus. "Ask of me some other thing."
The hermit thought for some time, and then said: "Know you of a mighty river not far from here, where many travelers perish in its currents?"
"Aye, I know of it," said Reprobus.
"Then you shall set up your pavilion by the banks of that river," commanded the hermit, "and when a traveler comes to cross it, you, being great in stature and noble in mind, will bear him upon your broad shoulders and carry him safely across. Thus you will serve Christ by serving others."
"Aye," grinned Reprobus, "that I will do."

And so Reprobus set up his pavilion by the banks of the river, and whenever travelers came to it, Reprobus would happily bear them across, one or even two at a time, on his shoulders. The currents were strong enough to carry away and drown any normal man, but with his great stature and his mighty walking-staff, Reprobus was in no great danger.

In this way Reprobus served travelers for many years, until one night, he was awakened from his sleep by a little boy.
"Are you not afraid to be visiting such a great ogre, alone in the dark?" asked Reprobus.
"I am not afraid," said the child. "Will you bear me across the river?"
"I will," said Reprobus, and he set the boy upon his shoulder and strode out into the waters.

The going was easy at first, but when Reprobus reached the middle of the river, a tempest whirled in out of nowhere. The rain pelted down in torrents, the river grew deeper, its currents grew stronger, and most strangely of all, the child on Reprobus's shoulders seemed to grow heavier and heavier. Reprobus's feet sank deep into the mud, his back bent and strained, and the waters reached nearly up to his mouth. For a brief moment Reprobus considered dropping the child to save himself, but immediately he knew that he must get the child safely to the other side of the river, even if it cost him his own life.

With renewed strength Reprobus plunged his walking-staff deep into the mud until it found firm anchor below, and pushed himself forward with all his might. Each step was more difficult than the last, but with great effort he finally reached the other side, and as soon as he stepped onto dry land, the tempest abated and the river calmed.

Reprobus set the child down on the ground, and, gasping for breath, said "If I had carried the whole world on my shoulders it could not have weighed more than you!"
The child replied: "Indeed you have carried the whole world on your shoulders, and Him Who made it!"
As further proof the child told Reprobus to set his staff upright in the ground, whereupon it took root and became a living tree with fruit on its branches.

Reprobus was overjoyed to finally meet the master he had been serving for so long, and the Christ-child baptized him in the waters of the river, giving him the new name Christopher, that is to say, Christ-bearer.

-=-

Because of his service to travelers at the river-crossing, Christopher became known in the medieval Catholic church as the patron saint of travelers, mariners, and ferrymen. More recently, for reasons I do not fully understand, he has also become associated with motorists, bookbinders, and surfers. (I also see him as the patron saint of tall bearded men with walking-staffs, but that's probably not official.) Sadly, in the late 20th century, the leaders of the Catholic church decided that Christopher should no longer be considered a saint on the grounds that he probably didn't actually exist--which in my opinion is only a minor character flaw and certainly not justification for disqualification. Anyway, after being excommunicated from the Catholic church, Christopher was adopted by the Discordians as the patron saint of surfers, and now by ourselves, hence the name of our church.

Whether or not Christopher actually existed, there is still an important truth to be learned from his story. Some religions tell us that we can only become good people by praying. Some religions tell us that we can only become good people by suffering. But the story of St. Christopher tells us that we can become good people by helping other people in need, and that we all have some special skill or ability that we can use for that purpose.
Christopher's search for the most powerful king in the world also suggests, perhaps, that there is no master greater than kindness and compassion.

Pick up your walking-staff, if you have one (and if you don't I urge you to get one; they're very useful), and go for a walk someplace where there are many people, and think about your own unique special abilities, and how they can be put to use in serving those in need.

Walk far, seek peace.
-=-Reverend Truman

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Mar. 20th, 2005

06:57 pm - Tales of the Mind, Tales of the World

A poor minister's house burns down. A bright and well-loved programmer dies young in a traffic accident. An old woman loses her health insurance and has nowhere to turn. The bad guys get away with it. A student's purse is stolen, throwing her life into financial turmoil. A hundred brave soldiers die in a poorly-planned battle that ultimately doesn't make any difference.

We don't want these things to happen. We want a sudden rainstorm to put out the fire; we want the programmer to recover from his injuries and achieve great things; we want the community to pitch in and help the old woman; we want the bad guys to get caught; we want a repentant thief to return the purse; we want the soldiers' deaths to mean something.

We don't want these things to happen. But they do.

Why do bad things happen to good people?

We like to believe that the universe is under some obligation to behave in a way that we find appropriate. This is a misunderstanding. We have developed, and must continue to develop, to fit the universe's demands, not the other way around. The reason for the misunderstanding, I think, is an ancient conflict between two of the Five Sacred Things: Stories and Mathematics.

Every human culture the world has ever known is full of stories. We like to tell stories; we like to hear stories. Stories tell us how the universe should work. We cannot ignore the fact that certain archetypes show up in folktales from all over the world: love conquers all things, even death; the good guys win; wicked deeds are avenged; piousness, cleverness, and hard work are rewarded. Even more complicated plot elements tend to show up more than you might expect: the son of a king or a god is raised by poor foster parents; a reluctant young hero is guided by a wise old mentor; the young hero finds a magical weapon that belonged to his ancestors; the young hero journeys to a dangerous place and defeats a nigh-invincible monster by attacking its secret weak point; divine intervention saves the heroes when they're in a tight spot.

We like stories that have plot elements like these. We can't help it. It almost seems like a certain set of archetypes is hardwired into our brain, and we instinctively appreciate any well-written story that weaves enough of them together. If this is true, then it's no coincidence that these plot element show up in so many traditional legends and folktales. Bards make up new stories all the time: stories with enough archetypes are appreciated, and retold again and again; stories with no archetypes are forgotten. Stories themselves go through a sort of evolution.

I believe that Lord of the Rings and the original Star Wars trilogy (we also seem to like things that come in threes; have you noticed that?) have been so amazingly successful is not merely because they were well written, but primarily because their authors tapped deep into the human psyche by deliberately weaving together so many of the old mythic archetypes. Arthur was the son of a king, but raised by a poor knight. Frodo's parents died in a boating accident and he was raised by his older cousin Bilbo. Luke was the son of a Dark Lord, but raised by his aunt and uncle, poor farmers. Arthur had Excalibur. Aragorn had Isildur's sword. Luke had his father's lightsaber. Arthur was guided by Merlin (until Merlin was entombed in a hollow tree); Aragorn was guided by Gandalf (until Gandalf fell off the bridge); Luke was guided by Kenobi (until Vader killed him). Most of us can't help but like these stories; it seems instinctive.

Stories with lots of archetypes tell us that what we want to happen does happen. In a world where so many things go wrong, Stories tell us what we so desperately want to believe. So why don't we see Stories all the time in real life? Why do things go wrong?

Our minds are controlled by Stories. The physical universe isn't. For hundreds of years, science has been trying to discover the mathematical laws that govern our universe. Recently it has become clear that those laws are probably vastly more complicated than we had anticipated, but we do have some pretty good models. Ultimately, it seems, there is a single mathematical law or set of laws that tells everything in the physical universe--from planets to people to particles--exactly how to behave at any given moment. We don't know what that law is, but it's there, and we feel its effects every moment. In fact it might be said that we are its effects.

It is a comforting thought, to some of us at least, that the world is so well-ordered, so perfectly governed by precise mathematical laws. The problem is that none of those laws contains the condition "...and it has to make a good story." There's no law of physics that says the good guys have to win. Our minds, and our desires, are governed by Stories. Reality is governed by Mathematics. There's no reason why the two have to coincide, and when they don't, we are disappointed.

How can we avoid this disappointment? Well, to start with, thinking mathematically can help, but if we also try to stop thinking in Stories, we would be denying our own humanity. There is another solution. A certain component of the physical universe forms a bridge between the physical realm of Mathematical laws and the fanciful realm of Story laws: I speak of the human mind. Human behavior is the means by which Stories can force themselves into the physical world. If you want to see the Stories come true, you have to make them come true.

If you want the poor minister's house to be spared, organize a volunteer fire brigade.
If you want the sick and the injured to be healed, get medical training.
If you don't want the bad guys to get away, join the police force.
If you don't want soldiers and civilians to die meaningless deaths in meaningless wars, work for peace.

Mathematics doesn't always allow the universe to tell good Stories. But sometimes, if we really try, we can tell our own.

Don't just tell the Story. Live the Story.

Go out into the world and walk to a high place. Look out at the world around you, and think about all the Stories that could be taking place there. And next time you get a chance to spend some time with a child, tell him or her a Story. A good one.
-=-Reverend Truman

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Mar. 13th, 2005

09:32 am - 1+1+1=1: The Trinity of Egos

Last week I lost a friend whom I'd known for years. It hurt a lot, but writing about my memories of him and attending the memorial service helped ease the pain. I wasn't planning to write any more about him just yet, but yesterday my mother reminded me of a quote from St. John Chrysostom, a pious 4th-century Christian bishop: "He whom we love and lose is no longer where he was. He is wherever we are."

The events of the last week, tragic and heartwarming alike, have awakened in me a long-dormant sense of religious philosophy. That quote in particular called to mind some ideas about the afterlife. But before we can consider what happens to us after death, we must first learn who we are.

When I say "I," what am I talking about? The default subject is usually the body: "I went to Latveria," "I ate some haggis," "I am sleepy," "I fell off my skateboard." In speech like this, the "I" is the body, and that's certainly a legitimate use of the term. But in other sentences the meaning of "I" goes deeper: "I like trans-Yuggothian metaphysics," "I'm not sure," "I think so," "I understand," "I can read ancient Norse runes," "I'm very good at geometry." This is the "I" of the mind; this is the "I" that can think, and the ability to think is surely a sacrament.

There is a third "I" as well, but "I" is rarely used to refer to it: by its very nature it often takes a form better described by "we." Perhaps because it was only recently discovered by the conscious mind, we often have difficulty thinking of it as "I." Consider these phrases: "I grow black hair," "I grow red-brown skin," "I walk upright," "I have opposable thumbs," "I want sex," "I want kids." At first glance these seem like the "I" of the body, but the actions and desires described are motivated by a much deeper force: the "I" of the genes. The genes which tell our bodies how to grow and, perhaps to a greater extent than we'd like to believe, our minds what to think are far, far older than any body or mind we know of. The wisdom of (according to current theories) several million milennia of evolution has gone into the shaping of your genetic material--or perhaps I should say our genetic material, since we all share so much of it. Our genes can teach us so much if we know how to listen.

Body, Genes, Mind. Three "I"s in one "I," three selves in one being. A holy Trinity of Egos. What happens to them after death?

The Body dies at death; that's pretty clear from its very definition. If you've got total organ failure, you're not going to get up and walk around anytime soon unless you happen to know some very skilled necromancers.

When the Body dies, the information stored in the Genes and Mind become effectively irretrievable (unless the retriever has access to cloning labs or a braintaper, but these would be very unusual cases). But information is a very persistent thing, if you've planned ahead enough to make backup copies. Horace wrote in his odes "I have raised a monument more lasting than bronze." He's right: most of the statues from his time are now dust or rust, but his poems are still famous thousands of years later. Why? Because he built his monument on a base of information rather than matter, and information can be easily reproduced.

Genes are amazingly complex. Unless you have an identical twin, you are most likely the only living thing on this planet--probably even the whole universe--with your exact genetic code. Think about that for a while: one in six billion! You are unique and special, just like everyone else. This means, of course, that the Genes die when the Body storing them dies. But each person's genetic code is not a solid irreducible thing: your exact genotype may die when your Body dies, but many aspects of it will still live in any living thing sufficiently similar to you: your children, your family, your clan, even your entire species. By protecting and nurturing those who share a lot of our genetic code, we assure that most of the important information in it will live on after our own deaths. Evolutionary biology takes this a step further and tells us that we share the same basic sort of genetic encryption system with all life on Earth. This means that wherever any living thing can persist and grow--on this planet or off--every living thing is, in a sense, there with it. When the first primitive lungfish crawled out of the swamp, we were there, urging it forward. When Neil Armstrong first stepped onto the moon, the proto-apes that gave rise to our species were cheering in his Genes. When I take the first step in a new journey, every creature that ever lived takes that step with me, and that is a comforting thought.

Love, one of the Five Sacred Things, initially grew out of the need to preserve our Genes--not only sexual love, as a means to produce more copies, but also familial love, as a means to protect and nurture those similar to us. Make a point of sharing that Love: with your children, with your family, with your clan, with all of humanity, with all life on Earth. When you raise your fist to strike your enemy, stop for a moment and ask yourself: are we really all that different, he and I?

The Mind is a very complex system as well. Like the Genes, the Mind dies when its host Body dies. But also like the Genes, the Mind is composed of many little pieces of information, and parts of it can be preserved by making backup copies elsewhere. In this case, the information is ideas, and we can make copies by sharing that information; by telling others or writing it down. Do you want to live forever? Write a poem, tell a story, compose some music, prove a theorem, paint a picture, teach children, make history. Turn your ideas into a monument more lasting than bronze! The people of tomorrow may not even know your name, but every time they hear your tale, your thoughts gain new life, and that's darn close to immortality. Ideas are like a magic penny: hold them tight and they'll die with you; share them with others, and they'll go everywhere. Sharing ideas has another benefit, too: not only do you get to make backup copies of your own ideas, but you also get a glimpse into the Minds of other thinkers. Ideas are growing and evolving things: combine your ideas with the ideas of someone else, and you can make new and better ideas; ideas that nobody has ever seen before!

My friend's Body may be dead, but his Genes live on in his family and species, and his Mind lives on in the memories of all who knew him. He is no longer where he was; he is wherever we are.

I'd like to close today's sermon with a folktale from the Jewish tradition. According to the Jewish sacred book Torah, God created the first humans Adam and Eve in a perfect paradise, but later cast them out into the harsh and troubled world outside for the sin of disobedience, and stripped them of their immortality. But in Judaism, the written Torah is not the only authority: it is supplemented by an oral tradition of folktales known collectively as the Midrash, which both comment on Torah stories and attempt to fill in gaps between them. In the Torah, God exiles Adam and Eve. But the Midrash continues the story:

When God saw that Adam and Eve were terrified and lost and alone in the world outside, He took pity on them, and came down to them and said: "My unfortunate children! For your sins I have punished you and cast you out of paradise. You will know sorrow, you will know grief, you will know pain; your loved ones will die, and someday you too will die. But take heart! for here I shall give you the greatest jewel in all of heaven, the greatest treasure in all of My creation: it is called a tear. When your pain and sorrow are ripping you apart, you will shed a tear, and the pain and sorrow will flow from you. When anger and hatred blaze within you at a wrong you cannot right, you will shed a tear, and the blaze will be quenched. When you are so filled with joy that you feel you will burst, you will laugh and smile and weep, and the tears shall share your joy with the world." And when Adam and Eve heard these words, the tears filled their eyes and rolled down their cheeks and fell to the earth, and with each tear some of their pain and sorrow left them. They gave these tears to us, their descendants, as a priceless inheritance, that whenever we are so filled with emotion that we know not what to do, we may weep, and the tears will heal us.

Weep when the need is great, and know you are loved.

I'm going on a walk with St. Christopher to reflect on my thoughts. Go forth and do likewise, and when you return with your reflections we shall talk.

Breathe deep, seek peace.
-=-Reverend Truman