I used to believe in humanity and in the March of Human Progress. Things would get better; science would let us live lives in glory and splendor unparalleled in times before us, unthinkable to our ancestors. Society would advance, a sort of Darwinian manifest destiny, moving from laborers cowed by the lash of whip and god-priest-king, to feudal warlords ruling self-sufficient serfdoms, to centralized nation-states of Church and King, to democratic republic where all men are equal, to God knows what next, each state marking an improvement in the rights, liberty, and happiness of those involved. In each state we grew to understand a moral truth that our ancestors in all their smallness, brutality and cruelty did not know. One day we would reach utopia and perfection.

We were noble, beautiful, and rational, given our ability to love, reason, and decide our own fates by God, or the Watchmaker, or the Prime Mover, or perhaps mere miraculous chance. Around us the sky and firmament stood strong, and the spheres circled in their celestial orbits. Above us stood God and the angels, below us the beasts of the earth, air, and water, each in its rightful kingdom. I didn't believe in sin or hellfire, but rather that a universal morality and intuitive natural decency resided in all this glorious humanity. Life well spent was self improvement, insatiable curiosity, public virtue, civic duty, and above all, the happiness of self and others. A life well spent was good company for dinner and lively conversation, music, art, a little mischief, a deep regard for natural beauty, and deep compassion for others less fortunate.

Yet I think myself unwise to ignore science. The science which I have so steadfastly endorsed says in shouts and whispers that am wrong. Every objective, impartial scientific study has said that humans are a wretched, dismal species. What am I to think of Stanley Milgram? What am I to think of the Stanford Prison? What am I to think of an idle crowd that time after time in controlled studies will idly allow a woman to be raped on a bus? We are easily warped by habit, culture, and prejudice. Given conditioning and genetic predisposition, we are not so different from Pavlov's dog after all.

I am an irrational atheist, meaning I take my atheism on faith. Unlike many people I did not develop the atheism rash after years of religious infection. :P I kind of just always was. I don't have the sort of self-righteous pride where I declare myself so much smarter than all religious people. I enjoy my irrational, internally inconsistent (and alliterating) beliefs full well knowing how stupid most of them are. I enjoy ghost stories, believe in UFOs and telepathy, play Dungeons and Dragons ("magic missle!"), and daydream about winning the lotto. Most of it is rubbish but if I'm going to be dead within the next century and experiencing the next gabillion years as an icy rock hurling towards the depth of space, I might as well distort my reality so it's irrational and interesting, rather than rational and boring. Does all this show me lacking intellectual rigor and discipline? That I have not the maturity or moral fiber to handle truth and all its attendant responsibilities? I wonder sometimes. The other times, I enjoy myself.

I believe that humans are born rational and noble, and that everything we do should enhance the happiness and virtue of people. I believe in the march of progress that was dreamed of in the Great Enlightenment, that slowly and surely, through rational science and the pursuit of knowledge, through contemplation of beauty and love of goodness, the world is becoming a better place, and that one day everyone will live in perfect happiness. Through civic involvement, public works and charity, bit by bit we better humanity. I believe that through the cultivation of art, music, and literature, I can become a better and more virtuous person.

They call me "agnostic," yet as sure as the ground beneath me, I know that all these things are true. A God may guide us in our development, may create us, may take us when we die. Yet all the things I say above are true, or lightning strike me down.

We are not born evil. We will not be thrown into a fiery Hell. We do not sin for loving the world that we were born to love. I embrace God as my god, but not Jesus Christ.

I am not Christian, but my faith is strong.

(Now stop giving me Jeebus pamphlets, people!!)

Meh, haven't had time to blog. Went to Alexandria yesterday and was for some reason awed, despite having been to DC and NYC and Athens and Madrid and Seville and Hong Kong. Highways with skyways crisscrossing over them with a river of cars thunder over and cranes which look really graceful like metal oragami swans and things that gave me an urge to operate heavy machinery. It makes me feel all patriotic. I don't think the Mighty Romans (tm) ever had electric streetlamps, and Charlemagne never got to order a big mac, and the walls of Troy can't beat a flushing toilet. Europe can keep its castles and marble statues; our pride is in the here and now and not what used to be. What I hate about Europe is that it feels like there are the ghosts of too many people there. Everything is if not literally built on the top of something else that was there before, (even the farms and forests) but on the spirit of something there before. That's what makes America different. And the best thing is that all of it is as common as dirt. Maybe some day in a post-apocalyptic world some funny humans will be digging a well and find a gigantic metal frame, and they'll say, "In the Golden Age of the human race, people raised buildings that touched the sky." Actually, this had better not be the Golden Age. Maybe silver or something. Egh. Whatever. This is why I hate blogging the day after I experience something. I should've kept a notepad handy.

No, this is outside Alexandria. Inside Alexandria (downtown) is very odd. It's like someone picked you up and threw you into some colonial .. city.. town.. thing. With cars. And lights. And horses and buggies. It was pleasant though. Just odd. None of the buildings were over 3 stories tall. It looked basically like Annapolis but less ghetto, and my mom said it looked like Georgetown only I've never been there or can't remember it.

Like Ankh-Morpork, but less grubby. Finished Feet of Clay. Annoyed, no Pratchett tomorrow (which I consider to be Monday. Technically it's already Monday, but it's 12:13 am Monday, so I consider it pyschologically still as "Sunday Night.) Must go to library on Tuesday.