God is all over the place (Qur'an, Ch. 2)

Re: Chapter 2: AL-BAQARA (THE COW)

Thy ears are companions of the Fire

Estimates vary, but let’s safely suppose there are over a billion Muslims in the world at this very moment. That makes the assumption--that at any given moment (including this one) there are thousands of Muslims studying Chapter 2 of the Quran--a safe one. If that is the case, the ears of every disbeliever (and that includes every non-Muslim and even some who say they are Muslims) should be burning. You’re being talked about, and in less than flattering terms.

If you don’t believe in God in the Quran, this chapter is largely about you. It starts right in on you. It’s gossipy (i.e. not to you, but to the true believers about you). Of course you, the disbeliever, is in for it. Sucks for you. Worse, you’re not a disbeliever by choice. Nope, you’re a disbeliever because God made you that way. In essence, God screwed you over so he can disrespect you to his true believers and ultimately punish you as an example to his true believers. Your whole purpose for being, it seems, is to keep the true believers feeling superior and on the straight and narrow.

God is a real trash talker. Consider yourselves defamed.

Allah of the Israelites

It seems the Quran was written for an audience that is well versed in the Old and New Testaments. So much so, that no good Muslim should be without a Torah and/or(?) a Bible. In no uncertain terms, Chapter 2 makes clear that Allah and the God of the Jews and Christians are one in the same. Interesting that, because if “Allah” is the Jewish and Christian “God”, and he most certainly is, why isn’t the English translation of “الله” “God”? Apparently it’s an issue. I didn’t mean to look it up either. Rather, I meant to look up the Arabic characters. You can take the fact that this inconsistency occurred to me in a vacuum (an observation from ignorance) for what it’s worth. Regardless of why, I note in myself a subtle enlightening that Allah is in fact the God of Adam, Isma'il, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, Jesus…the children of Israel. I suspect that although we know better (I did!), calling God Allah has the insidious effect of distinguishing in our minds the God of the Muslims from the God of the Jews and Christians. It’s a false distinction, and, at minimum, a counterproductive one. And one that, even though I knew better, had played its trick on me. It wasn’t until I started reading the Quran that I noticed I didn’t associate Allah with all the things I associated God with, and vise versa.

For God too, the third time is the Quran

So it’s about 600 AD. There are Jews and Christians, and just as in modern times, among them you’ll find hypocrites. In fact, just like today, there was apparently a lot not to like about Jews and Christians circa the seventh century. What do you do? You take their God, you take their signs, you take their prophets, you take their texts, and you write a scathing criticism of the establishment along with instructions on how to avoid their hypocrisy. You start their religion anew. The mistakes of the past were those of the Jew and the Christian. You needn’t carry the burden of their sins. Rather, let them serve as lessons for those who would not repeat them. And better still, lessons for those who, if they had been Moses’ charge, would not have worshiped the calf, or if they had been at Jesus’ side, would not have slain him.

Here is God, here is religion, but without all the baggage of men. You see, in Mohammed’s time, Islam had no history. It was a newborn, and as such, unsullied by men who would practice it. That’s the appeal. Here is a religion that is yet to be ruined, and more, unruinable by men. Unfortunately for Islam, it is no longer immune from the criticisms it levels at the Jews and the Christians. And that’s what you’ll find in Chapter 2. A critical refutation of Jews and the Christians that today is just as valid if leveled against Muslims. Or, to put it another way, if you were to write the Quran today, and include in it the hook, you’d be remise if you didn’t include Muslims along side Jews and Christians as poor examples.

If God is being honest

He wrote the Quran for men to read. He talks about women, but not to them. God says they have rights similar to those of men, according to what’s equitable (whatever that’s supposed to mean), but adds that men have a degree of advantage. So basically, women are not to be treated equally, but the inequality with which they are treated should only be to the degree which is required for men come out on top.

The Quran does say it’s a good individual act to free slaves. But it also talks about proper relations with slaves as if slaves are a fact of life. I imagine they were. But conspicuously lacking is a mandate to free all slaves. This, to me, is symptomatic of how the Quran bends over backwards to accommodate a myriad of conditions or circumstances in an effort to appeal to as many people as possible. You don’t want to alienate he who hath slaves, so you don’t tell him he has to free all slaves, but if he wants to feel better about himself he can free one or two. You don’t want to alienate slaves, and if in your religion one curries favor with God by freeing slaves, well, you’re on their side. What’s not lost on me is that according to God, a slaves freedom is bought, not won, i.e. the buying and selling of slaves is a legitimate practice.

God hath covered every base

In chapter 2 you’ll find instructions for Ramadhan, the Hajj, bequeathing your worth and the particulars of divorce. The instructions are both accommodating to a variety of circumstances such as under what circumstances you can remarry your ex-wife. They are often practical. For example, in the case of the Hajj, be well behaved and once you’ve completed the Hajj, get the hell out of the way quickly least you cause a traffic jam. But often, in an apparent effort to consider all possible circumstances that might come up, the instructions leave room to disregard the original aim. Take Ramadhan, the holy month. You’d think it would be a good excuse to stop fighting. But if you tell your people they can’t fight during Ramadhan, sooner or later they’re going to get slaughtered. So you have to spell out under what circumstances they can fight. And in doing so, you basically defeat the whole purpose, since it is often repeated that God knows what’s in your heart and mind, so if you can convince yourself that the conditions for fighting during Ramadhan are met, well, you can fight.

The word of God is still just a word

All in all, I found Chapter 2 interesting in parts and mind numbing in others. What more I know about Islam is probably best summed up as better understanding of where it fits into history, and given the transparency of its mechanisms (to me at least), a renewed sense of resignation that I’d learned to ignore. There’s just something incredibly pathetic about the human race.

By Ender | Main | Index

It’s the thought that counts (Qur'an, Ch. 1)

Re: Chapter 1: AL-FATIHA (THE OPENING)

It’s a short prayer, a Surah, which touches on how great God is, a bit of God’s character, an oath of fealty and a plea for guidance… Thus, according to the introduction, God answers this prayer with the Quran (instructions). Given its brevity, I’m personally at a loss for anything more interesting to imagine. Read: All assertions as to the meaning or purpose of this short prayer lack any kind of support whatsoever, thus all who would venture to interpret it are false prophets.

By Ender | Main | Index

Worthwhile Sports Nut Article

My issues with the Slate'sSports Nut column have been well documented, or documented, at least.

But Matt Yglesias's(!) article outlining why the new NBA rules put a premium on defense in opposition to the conventional wisdom that they favor the offense actually persuaded me of something I did not agree with before I read the article.

Yglesias's point seems so obvious that you wonder how hte CW went the other way-- if the new rules make offense easier and defense more difficult, then good defensive players will be more valuable than ever. The problem with the NBA before wasn't that it placed a premium on defensive ability, but just the opposite -- it was possible to be an effective defensive player without any particular skill. Now, you can't get by with hand-checking

The same will be true in other industries. In software engineering, switching between tasks is expensive. But it is also necessary to meet business goals, so that means, engineers who are good at taks switching are incredibly valuable. As Joel wrote, that's why they pay us the big bucks.

I think that's an important determinant in someone's success or failure. If new developements (regulations, technological developments) make your job more difficult, will you see that as a hindrance, or an indication that your ability to adapt and be successful in the new environment will be at a premium?

Troubleshooting

[First draft at establishing a policy for dealing with problem posts. Let me know if you agree or disagree with this proposed approach.]

It’s important that you are familiar with the design elements of WikiFray, because as a contributor, your posts have the potential to alter the appearance of the blog. It is assumed that prior to posting to WikiFray, you visit WikiFray. Before you post, consider the appearance of the blog. Is everything in order? Is there a problem with the blog?

Hopefully, everything will be in order (no obvious technical issues with the blog). However, if the blog seems to be askew, consider holding off on posting your post until the issue(s) are resolved. The reason for this is your posts have the potential to alter the blog, so if there is a problem with the blog and you add your post regardless, the person trying to fix the blog has to then consider your post as the potential source of the problem (you make it harder to find and thus fix what’s wrong).

That said, WikiFray should mostly be working fine. If everything is looking good, proceed and post. But after you post, check to see that WikiFray is in the same working order as it was before you posted. If it’s not, chances are your post did something to alter a design element of the blog. If this happens, go back to your post and try to figure out what you did that created the problem. If you can’t figure it out (edit the problem out of your post and republish), and you give up, save your post as a draft and email wikifray@gmail.com requesting assistance.

Finally, if your post is the source of a problem, my first action will be to save it as a draft. Time permitting, I’ll follow that action up with help, explaining to the author what the problem was. I may not always have time to do this, or attend to this immediately, so if you find your post was saved as a draft, it means there’s a problem with it. Attempt to identify and fix the problem, or wait for a note from me explaining the problem and how to fix it. The long and short of it is I need to be able to do quick fixes. The quickest fix is to save the problem post as a draft. We each need to be responsible for our impact on the blog. It’s okay to make mistakes, but it’s also important that we each learn from our mistakes. Therefore, I won’t fix your posts. I will, however, help you to fix them.

Poetry Slam

It’s storming outside, and I’m in a dark mood, but I’ll spare you – for now – not because you deserve mercy, but because today is a special day...

Today the BOTF Poetry Slam takes flight, winging off into the blogosphere where it becomes its own creature, no longer confined to the obscurity of a backwater bulletin board. Today obscurity can be had in an arena a million miles wide.

In honor of this special day, I will not ask you to write verses upon a harvest feast. Today I will spare you themes of dry turkey meat and lumpy gravy and the horrors of one’s extended family.

Today, dear poets, on the event of the BOTF Poetry Slam’s emancipation, I offer you the only suitable topic: Britney and Kevin’s breakup. Or, more generally, the shucking off of things that have turned bad, that have perished, that are rotting like a turkey carcass left in the oven.

Write your hearts out.

I’ll pick a winner and get back to you tomorrow.

"Die Mauer wird zerissen!"

Here are pictures where I don't care about their artistic value. They capture a moment, a mood bygum!, a joy and optimism and potential energy the likes of which I doubt I'll ever feel again in my lifetime. When I was in the cafeteria at school and my German-American friend (who had family in the East) was rushing out of the cafeteria and shouted to me "Komm schnell! Die Mauer wird zerissen..." (Come quickly! The Wall is being torn down...")

What friggin wall? I thought he meant one of the ivy covered granite ones at school. I got a hamburger. I found him in the lounge. Jesus, I've never had a grin like that.

A couple of weeks later I got a letter from an exchange student from Germany my family had hosted. She had stood on the wall, she was going to go to University in Berlin, "you have no idea" she said, "what it is like."

These pictures recall all those moments, and the next year, too, when I went to Germany and had East German classmates, when I danced at a club in Weimar, when I drank with a couple of Ossis about to lose their jobs. It was an amazing time, and feels even more miraculous in retrospect. The wall coming down. The wall coming down.

The Election's Second Casualty

First the elections took out Rumsfeld, and good riddance. But the next casualty seems to be free trade. The populist sentiments formed around the mishandling of the Iraq war and the immigration issue are likely to have profound consequences for our relations with other countries.

On the eve of Bush's trip to Southeast Asia, Congress rejected a new trade agreement with Vietnam.

The thinking goes that the newly-empowered embittered electorate wants a tougher stance with China and more protection of U.S. wages. Probably correct as a political calculation, but it seems strange to me that the election is also being trumpeted as a victory for moderates.

Another interesting aspect of the failure free trade agreement was the new Republican math. Even though the GOP still holds the lame-duck majority, it claims the failure of the bill was the Democrats' fault. It's awfully intemperate, this new moderation: protectionism, isolationism, and partisan bickering.

Person of the Year...

In all seriousness, I think one could do worse than Kos. Chuck Schumer would have to be another candidate. The Dems' success has more to do with Bush's failure than anything else, and I've been skeptical about the Daily Kos's influence, but it's hard to argure with results.

In reality, I'm predicting a cop out multiple winner, like the "whistleblowers" or "American GI" of previous years. It could be "the independent voter," or "the scientist," or even "the blogger." Or they could really punt and go with someone like Katie Couric.

For Sportsman of the Year, it's boring, but I'd have to go with Tiger Woods. He again established himself as in a class by himself. To go off the beaten path, I might pick Rutgers fullbackBrian Leonard (and I highly recommend the linked article), who captures most of what's great in sports.

SI might pick Woods, but they can't pick him every year. Tony La Russa's probably in the running, as is Andre Agassi.

I'm wearing a T-shirt and gym shorts. I'm watching my video of the 1999 Rams Super Bowl year, and I'm reminded how much I miss watching Marshal Faulk play football. It's odd his retirement was greeted with so little fanfare. I don't think there's any athlete I enjoyed watching more than Faulk. Also, it's kind of strange how the play Isaac Bruce made for the 80 yard winning touchdown with 2 minutes left in that Super Bowl has faded to obscurity, between the way the game ended and the Rams losing the Super Bowl dramatically two years later. But it's hard to think of a play in Super Bowl history that mix of being spectacular and having an impact on the result.

The Best Kick in All of Football

The best kick in all of football was made by Adam Vinatieri of the Patriots in early 2002, in a snowstorm, from a wicked 45 yards to tie the game in the final seconds against the Oakland Raiders in the quarterfinals of the postseason tournament. Fittingly, it was to be the last game ever played in the old Foxboro Stadium, casting off whatever remaining ghosts of inept management--and play--that may still have lingered in the old building. Routinely, NFL announcers laud Bob Kraft, the owner of the team, for only minimally extorting the locals for stadium infrastructure. The old prick charmed ludicrous offers from the city of Hartford so that he could use them to get lesser concessions in the next state up. I dodged one tax bullet in Connecticut only to end up supporting the team in Massachusetts a few years later. Do I still love them? Do you have to ask?

I am a football fan only by nurture. The same qualities that make it remarkably well-suited for television advertising breaks made it a pretty good fit for Sunday afternoons in college, which is to say that the sparse action left most of my attention available for conversation and alcohol, with occasional interruptions for cheering. Furthermore, it felt good to pose as a foil to my buddy the annoying Giants fan, and latching on to the hometown heroes was easy a transition as could be. Too bad the Pats were a 2-14 team in those days, but futile contrarianism suited me too, and when, ten years later, they became worth rooting for, my groundless superiority complex could still hold against the fairweather fans. If my friend back then had been an irritating Yankees poseur, things would have probably been different. I never would have seen that kick for one thing.


You can probably find some geriatric gridiron purist who can cite some sped up black-and-white film of Lefty Pinwhistle--who not only kicked, but also played fullback and defensive end, back when the teams had 11-man rosters and wore only bulky sweaters for padding--kicked a then-record-breaking twenty-seven yarder with a to win the Bowl (as it was simply called in those days) with a shattered patella. It's easier to find a more recent general-purpose Brady-hater (but if you find anyone who admits being an Oakland fan, let me know) who will tell you that the Patriots miracle come-from-behind just wasn't all that. We Pats fans mumble something noncommital when the phrase, "tuck rule" is mentioned. It's never good to rest your hopes on a recalled decision, but oh hell, what a kick anyway. I know there were crowds there, but the snow swirling and the yellow goalposts are all I can see in the mental picture, contrasted against the lights and the indigo sky behind them. I know there were players on the field, but I can only see Adam, with his jersey matching the sky, hunkering down over a diminutive Ken Walter and the ball, the two alone on the expanse of white field, shoveled hash marks rapidly filling back in. The bar was hushed around me too in anticipation. 45 yards in the wind and snow. No fucking way could he pull this off.

If you dump enough snow on anything, it will turn into a lithograph. The fresh blanket of snow damps sounds, covers the defects in the landscape, and absorbs smells. Even your most tired post-industrial suburb looks newly born when it's under that mat. The snowcover also diffuses any available light, and when the crystals are still filling the air at night, it never really gets dark. The snow blows and floats around in tiny sparkles, and everything you can see is illuminated from everywhere and nowhere. It's silent music. It's romance.

It had been another tough year for these New England fans doing time in D.C., where the Redskins infect every billboard and newscast. 'Skins lovers are like the Yankees fans of the middle Atlantic, but unlike the Yankees, the overpriced Redskins sucked gloriously in the 2001 season. The Schadenfreude could only take us so far, however, we still got tired of watching them. We didn't get north until the season was ending, losing a month with my parents as we eased into the next phase of our lives. Mom and Dad hate the sport though, and even worse, no one could drive on a night like that. But defiant and bored, my wife and I crunched our boots out into the magic, hearing nothing but our own voices, smelling nothing but clean snow and the scarves moistened by our breath. Who knew if the bar would be open, and who cared? To be out in a night like that was to remember you were alive. We ran down the two miles of hill, skidded, threw snowballs, held mittened hands, giggled like kids.

I grew up in a small town. It's center is still a wall of storefronts and crappy apartments broken up by a surfeit of gas, booze, pizza, and church. Trudging down the deserted main street, there's one place with it's lights on, an air of festivity leaking out the door. Another Christmas card. I have no idea how anyone managed to get down there, but the local dive is hopping. My wife and I stand up some beers and after too many months, finally settle into some local football.

"His arm was going forward, it's an incomplete pass!" I swear I shouted this as it happened, before even the idea of a fumble sunk in to the rest of the patrons, or instant replay ridiculously drew out the moment. The woman on the other side turned to inform me again that she doesn't normally watch much football, but that would be nice if I was right. I was, and suddenly, a win was possible. Several rapid and unlikely passes--the one-minute stuff that would soon become Tom Brady's trademark--and one miracle kick later, and the game was in overtime.

The dark blue sky may have been possible because of the contrast of the game lights. I am pretty sure there actually were twenty-two players on the field, whatever my traitor memory may tell me, and that sense of isolation and of compressed time is probably some other defective trick of recall, which has templated the situation in the terms of too many bad movies and instant replays. I am sure that the bar got giddily quiet as the ball sailed through the air and the camera followed its arc. And I know I heard the cheer too. We cheered too. Awesome.

The walk back was almost as nice as the trip down, reduced, a little, because we had something to actually talk about, and because we knew the night would end as soon as we got home. The snow had settled a little and removed some of the light from the air, wrapping up the experience, the night we saw the best kick in all of football.

Keifus