30 July 2009

non-sequitur of the day . . .

I absolutely adore Aretha Franklin's singing voice. It soothes my savage breast. She made a gospel recording some time in the mid seventies. The opening song is called "Mary Don't You Weep"

Lovely music.

Earlier today, while listening to NPR I heard one of the old classic folk singers singing the tune (I'm sure it wasn't Pete Seeger, but I can't recall who it was). Anyway, the absurdity of the song's lyric hit me like a joke for the first time:

Oh Mary don't you weep
Mary don't you weep
Pharaoh's army got drownded [sic]
Oh Mary don't you weep



Can anyone tell me what the hell this song is about?

I suppose that, if I really needed to, I could concoct and spin a nice little epicycle to make sense of it.


Just thought this was funny, all of a sudden.


28 July 2009

epicycles are brilliant . . . but unnecessary . . .


"Galileo's head was on the block ... "

I recently asked an apologist blogger to complete the "refutation" of the Tübingen Scholars and of the Dutch Radicals which he had started a year before. My request was based on my frustration due to my observation that no apologist/polemicist ever adequately addresses the problems raised by the arguments stemming from these two all-but-forgotten historical-scholarly entities. These mainly (for my purpose) have to do with the 'inauthenticity' of the pauline corpus and the implications that follow this conclusion.

Before commenting on a few of the specifics of this gentlemen's 'refutation', I must comment on my immediate reaction to the style and form of this kind of apologetic enterprise, as I believe these to be part and parcel of the problem of research regarding these matters.

Let's go way back.

Long ago we started watching the skies at night. Years and decades and aeons of observations made it possible for us to theorize about the movement of celestial bodies in the firmament. Beside the obvious fact that the moon was our monthly dancing partner, we began noticing that the stars don't ever change positions relative to each other and that they go around and around the earth at a set regular rate of movement that corresponds to the yearly seasonal cycles. This observation made people realize that the firmament is in fact in constant revolution around our little planet (and, again, relatively speaking, this is true).

Next we noticed a different kind of celestial body in motion. Planets. Planets, however, seem to display a somewhat different pattern of movement through the sky, one with much variation. They are all over the place compared to the stars, further observation and cataloguing revealed that even these seemingly chaotic bodies are also in constant regular revolutions around the Earth. Always around the Earth. This was the only conclusion that the early philosophers could come to in a pre-scientific world, based on the observational criteria they had. All heavenly bodies revolve around the earth. It's obvious, no?

There's a little problem, though. It became almost immediately apparent that the orbits of all of these celestial bodies around the Earth were not always perfectly circular (the circle being the "perfect" form of motion according to our logical and metaphysical ruminations). In fact, a model which would explain the apparently asymmetrical orbits would require the use of epicycles and deferents to explain these orbital anomalies.

This is in fact what Hipparchus (c. 190 BC – c. 120 BC) brilliantly came up with to explain the retrograde motion of such strange orbits as those of Venus and Mars. (see above figure for an example of what an epicycle is)

This was a brilliant solution for an observable natural phenomenon. Hipparcus in fact built a room-size mechanism, a model using these epicycles, with all of the heavenly bodies revolving around the Earth in a rigorously synchronized cosmic ballet. This model was so good, in fact, that with it he could predict solar eclipses and other celestial events—decades in advance—with remarkable accuracy.

Right about this same time another man, Seleucus of Seleucia (c. 190–150s BC), hit upon the idea that the orbits of celestial bodies would be simplified—epicycles no more—if only we would place the sun in the middle of the scheme instead of the Earth.

Duh!

The point that I'm after here is that epicycles, brilliant constructs that they are, (They work! They explain so much!) are not reality. Though they solve a philosophical problem in the eye of the observer, they did not reflect the reality of the cosmos.

And this is the sort of thing that apologetics in general (but especially the "historical" variety) reminds me of. Pages and pages devoted to epicyclic spinnings-in-place. It all looks so very systematic and erudite. Secondary and tertiary sources are quoted copiously. Cross-referenced.

I actually read the forums that the apologist blogger directed me to regarding the Dutch Radicals.

He referred me for instance to a link that "rips Hermann Detering a new one for his ridiculous arguments based on his misunderstanding of the mechanics of letter production, the different kinds of letters, and travel in the ancient world."

Well, I read the article. Lupia rightly points out Detering's limitation as a paleographer or papyrologist or what-have-you, but to simply list some thirty-one varieties of letters and then say that Romans is sorta kinda like a Diogenes Laërtius work? That's it? That's weak! It's the rhetorical equivalent of: See? You didn't even know there were eight different conjugations of the verb "estar"!! . . . Such 'gotcha' type epicycles may serve to point out an individual's deficiencies in some specialty field, true, but to imagine that a lack of specialization in papyrology (or whatever) disqualifies a historian from commenting on the general form and function of an epistle. Well . . . that's just silly. As Bob Dylan once sang, "You don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows."

Yet, this supposedly "rips Detering a new one". The apologist treats it like one more slam dunk.

Slam dunk? It's barely relevant!

Even if you could semantically call "Romans" (or Ignatius' "letters" or 1st Clement, or whatever) a "letter" because another long diatribe is called a letter in 300 CE or so, it's still not functionally a letter (no more than Diogeneses' letter to Herodotus is—THAT's the point!). Detering's point stands.

The modern historico-apologetic enterprise has been so busy at work conceiving epicycle solutions to the problems that beset the texts. They're brilliant at it.

Well . . . . I'd like to commission a few epicycles from some apologist. Not too many; in fact, I prefer to deal with them one at a time and at length (one of my complaints about the apologists MO is that they throw out a lot of information in a short time, declare some finality to it all and move on to the next desultory point. Ironically, it's like listening to an astrology buff wax on and on about some favorite astral exegesis. Yes, it's ancient. Yes, it's highly systematized. Yes, it is historically deep. Astrology is not an adequate view of reality nevertheless, and no amount of prolixity and erudition will change that.

Anyway . . . I'd like a few custom-made epicycles from one of my apologist readers:

  1. Why do you think that, even if they are authentic —which they almost certainly are not—The author of the Ignjatian corpus only knows for sure of one Pauline letter? I mean, this reportedly happened in 106–110, right.
  2. While I'm on the topic of Ignatius . . . Why do you suppose that there was a tradition all the way up to the fifth century, in ANTIOCH, no less (Ignatius' home turf) that Ignatius had been martyred there at Antioch (John Malalas). Mind you, I am not saying that his version is true. I don't care. What I'm saying is, Why is there this independent tradition in Antioch, if everyone knew that Ignatius died in Rome after writing a book (I mean, some letters ;)? Would the Antiochenes not know of it?


I'd love to see what epicycles may come.


kinda

o_Ó


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a quick one . . . .

I went in expecting to find the sextet there today, but instead found a quartet of Chris, Dowell, Rob and myself. I was given the afternoon off, so we did a little Paul McCartney ditty that I love.


Junk







25 July 2009

la YiYiYi, que nos dice . . .

I've watched this video a bunch of times. When Pablo Picasso watched La Lupe perform for the first time, he said, "One word: genius." This clip comes from a mid sixties PuertoRican television program. I can't help but imagine my grandmother and all her friends behind their Roman Catholic lace veils, utterly horrified at what La Lupe was doing on Prime Time. Rosaries and penances for sure.

This woman is dancing around—wrestling with some serious angels. She scared the hell out of the PuertoRicans, Cuba's newborn dream couldn't care less about apostates like her and Mexico just wasn't enough to sustain this brilliant artist of the twentieth century, amazing though she was.

Had she made it to the Buena Vista age, she would have possibly had a new audience. Like a rare and beautiful Ibrahim Ferrer, a black pearl from a deep deep forgotten treasure.


Who knows?


23 July 2009

a geomorphic linguistic riddle . . .


 

On September 23rd, 1493, Cristobal Colón, who was on his second trip to the "new world," had made it to what is now the island of Guadalupe. While there, he came upon some Taino natives who had been taken prisoner by the Caribs of the region. These captives managed to convey that they came from a bigger island further up the Antilles archipelago, an island they called Boriquén (roughly: 'the land of the brave lord'). They begged Colón to take them back to their island. Colón had arranged it with the Spanish crown that he would be the de facto governor of all of the territory which he "discovered" in the name of Spain, so it's not surprising that he would grant these native captives their wish. He wanted to return to Quisqueya anyway, which he had first visited in his famous first voyage, so claiming another isle on the way sounded like a good enough idea.

On November 19th, Puerto Rico was sighted. Colón named the island San Juan Bautista and they landed on the west coast, near what is now the town of Mayagüez. But Colón was sufficiently burdened with the tasks of establishing the colony at Española (the name he had given to Quisqueya) to stay long on the island. After a stay of only two days, he hurried on westward, leaving its dumbstruck Taino population to scratch their heads in wonder and awe at this development in their theretofore unchanging existence. (These two days, incidentally, were the only two days that Colón ever spent on territory that would eventually become American —i.e. USA— soil.)

Some fifteen years would pass with the Tainos having no further knowledge of these god-like (or so it seemed) creatures from the sea. Worse, if they had any information coming in about them, they were getting it from their neighbors and kin over in Quisqueya, and the news were not encouraging, I bet. They were undoubtedly stories of enslavement and of occupation and oppression and disease. Despite some efforts led by Catholic priests to protect them, the Tainos suffered greatly under the Spanish conquest.

Finally, in 1508, Juan Ponce De León, who had been a soldier on board one of the seventeen ships that comprised Colón's second voyage, and who had since moved from Spain to Santo Domingo (on Española), was commissioned to return to San Juan Bautista with a crew of fifty men to colonize the island. He arrived on August 12th, landing on the southern coast near Guánica. Making his way through the lush mountainous island, he finally arrived at the northern coast, where he found a magnificent bay. The minute he glimpsed this bay, it is said that he exclaimed, "Ay, que puerto rico!" ('My, what a rich/delicious port!').



. . . . which finally brings me to the riddle . . .

How did the names of this rich port and of the island of San Juan exchange places so quickly? Not long after Ponce De León exclamation, the island was referred to as Puerto Rico and the bay was referred to as San Juan.

A big switcheroo.

Weirdly cool.



22 July 2009

yesterday's CRAS Tempe session . . .

Ted, Joe, Rob and i &i & i (instructor was La Bounty)


Sing, Theresa Says



Ó


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21 July 2009

last Thursday CRAS Gilbert . . .

Ted, Rob, Frank R and i& and i & and i (Nancy was the instructor)


Scarlet Begonias







20 July 2009

blues for mister B . . .


I spent the weekend house/cat-sitting for my friends. I figured it might be a cool quiet retreat of sorts, so I brought along my watercolor stuff. I left it behind for my friends (a married couple) to find when they come home tonight.


Ó


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17 July 2009

late night catfish run . . .


The 3½ lb channel catfish I caught last night at Tempe Town Lake (I think it was 4lbs, but Rob was mad 'cause he didn't catch any, so he depreciated it- laughs)


Ó


13 July 2009

suggestions for a pope . . .

The radiocarbon tests performed on some bone fragments from the recently excavated sarcophagus traditionally held to be the apostle Paul's burial site have dated them to the first or the second century of the common era. Based on these results, Pope Benedict XVI declared the remains to be indeed those of the apostle. Although I think he's being premature (and a bit presumptuous) in his announcement, I have no special reason for doubting that they may be the famed apostle's bones. In fact, for what it's worth, I hope they are Paul's.

The problem that I have with all of this at the moment is that the span of time in the dating result is not narrow enough. If (and that's a bigger 'if' than Benedict allows for) these are indeed the bones of the notorious Paul, we need a narrower scope of time than this two-century side-of-a-barn time span in order for the discovery to be of any real help.

How to narrow the gap?

During the excavations of the Dead Sea Scrolls, many radiocarbon tests were performed on many artifacts. In an attempt to narrow the wide range of time which the artifacts can be dated to, an archaeologist named Magen Broshi came up with an idea. In one particular cave—the Cave of Letters—archaeologists (led by Yigael Yadin) discovered some correspondence between Simon Bar Kochba and one Yohanan, probably an officer under him. The most fortuitous thing about these letters is that they are dated; we know when Bar Kochba was active in his campaign against the Romans (132–136 C.E.). Broshi thought to submit these letters to radiocarbon dating as well, to see which date in the wide (often more than two century) span of possible dating for them. It turns out that in the cave of letters, a general rule of thumb applies for carbon 14 dating: in short, the actual date usually coincided with the older extreme of the dating carbon 14 time range. Now, This rule was later called Broshi's Law and was useful in chronologically or stratigraphically studying the treasures of the Cave.

Now, Broshi's Law only technically applies to the Cave of Letters, but I wonder if there might be a possibility of doing a similar test in the case of Paul's sarcophagus. I anticipate that a detailed report concerning the radiocarbon is forthcoming (it would be a real shame if it is not).
Some questions I have:
What exactly is the range of dates that resulted? (20–220 C.E? . . . . 70—180 C.E.? The precise range would be good to know)
The pope's report said that there were articles of clothing nearby. Were there any texts nearby? Any letters, especially?

Knowing the precise dating could settle many questions regarding Christian origins. If the bones date to around 64 or so, then the traditions about Paul are confirmed and the theories of the Tübingen and Dutch Radical schools can be tossed out the window as anachronic.

But, what if the bones turn out to date to the second century? Wouldn't this fact require us to throw the traditional story out?

(Of course, in that case, I have no doubt that the church would simply concede that it's probably not Paul after all)

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12 July 2009

belated CRAS chronicles . . .

Live 30 June 2009 at Tempe campus (Ted, Rob, Joe, and I)

morning - Walking on the Moon




afternoon - Rainbow's Cadillac




Live 7 July 2009 at Gilbert campus (Chris, Dowell, John C, Ted, Billy, and I)

morning - River





afternoon - Walking on Your Footsteps





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06 July 2009

Codex Sinaiticus manuscript digitized and online

It's rare that one gets to look at a fourth century Bible manuscript.


Way cool.


roadtrip . . .

Frank is in town. We drove to Wickenburg, then to Prescott, then through Yarnell, then to Jerome, then to Sedona, then to Flagstaff, stopped off in Rock Springs, then finally back home to Phoenix. A good day.

Arizona is a beautiful state, especially when one can avoid the infernal valley heat.


Ó


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04 July 2009

Fourth of July setlist ...

 


λεων

Ó
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02 July 2009

no bigfoot . . . just a fox . . .

I live in pretty much an urban area. Usually, when I see desert fauna, it's on some hiking trail a good ways away from the metropolitan area. I've come across a few rattlers and a few scorpions out there, a few coyotes. But the city is pretty well developed.

I was sitting in the front porch a few nights ago sipping some hojicha (Japanese roasted green tea) when I happened to look over at the neighbor's yard and saw what I first thought was a cat, sitting, looking across the yard, debating whether to cross the street. There was something peculiar about this cat, though; once it started to walk it became immediately clear to me that this was no cat. This was a fox! Right in the middle of town! Way cool.
Might not seem like a big deal to anyone who lives outside of a big urban area, but to me it was very exciting. I googled and voilá . . . . the photo of vulpes macrotis shows exactly what I saw that night.




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the battle continues . . .

Tempe Town Lake catfish will be surprised to hear that Oscar Meyers scored higher than Hebrew Nationals in a taste test done recently involving humans. There's no accounting for taste!

:P

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