Odin (or, depending upon the dialect Woden or Wotan) was the Father of all the Gods and men. Odhinn is pictured either wearing a winged helm or a floppy hat, and a blue-grey cloak. He can travel to any realm within the 9 Nordic worlds. His two ravens, Huginn and Munin (Thought and Memory) fly over the world daily and return to tell him everything that has happened in Midgard.

He is a God of magick, wisdom, wit, and learning. He too is a psychopomp; a chooser of those slain in battle. In later times, he was associated with war and bloodshed from the Viking perspective, although in earlier times, no such association was present. If anything, the wars fought by Odhinn exist strictly upon the Mental plane of awareness; appropriate for that of such a mentally polarized God.

He is both the shaper of Wyrd and the bender of Orlog; again, a task only possible through the power of Mental thought and impress. It is he who sacrifices an eye at the well of Mimir to gain inner wisdom, and later hangs himself upon the World Tree Yggdrasil to gain the knowledge and power of the Runes.

All of his actions are related to knowledge, wisdom, and the dissemination of ideas and concepts to help Mankind. Because there is duality in all logic and wisdom, he is seen as being duplicitous; this is illusory and it is through his actions that the best outcomes are conceived and derived.

Just as a point of curiosity: in no other pantheon is the head Deity also the God of Thought and Logic. It’s interesting to note that the Norse/Teutonic peoples also set such a great importance upon brainwork and logic. The day Wednesday (Wodensdaeg) is named for him. (Source)

Since this sort of think doesn’t occur very often as far as I know, I contend the majority of us couldn’t really see ourselves doing this and can’t imagine the circumstances that could cause us to want to do it.

This is what death is. Death means the end to everything we are aware of. Everything familiar, everything comfortable, everything we can’t imagine wanting to live without. Despite what you may personally believe about the afterlife, no theory attempts to deny that we die. This reality ends. Whether or not another reality pops up to replace it, we all seem to agree this one ends with our death. And that means we’ll be devoid of everything we now know, believe and love.

That scares the living crap out of all those people I mentioned above who can’t imagine themselves dying as a volitional act. If we wanted to do something like that we would. Obviously we don’t wish to. We rate life at 51% preferable to its alternative.

Death affects 100% of the population of the world. Death is an event from which there is no refusal to participate. No amount of money will buy you a pass. No life of deprivation and sacrifice will let you avoid the inevitable. And it is inevitable; it’s THE BIG inevitable, the only other experience common to every living thing is birth (by some means).

“It’s not fair” we cry. “I don’t deserve to die.” “I’ve been a good person.” “I’m not ready to go.”

You may respond to this fatal reality with a cold, hard no-non-sense attitude or an emotional and imaginative scenario. It’s don’t make no mind to the grim reaper.   He is the world’s best civil servant. You can’t bribe him and he never misses a day of work. He has yet to miss attending a single death of any living thing on the planet for the whole of time. I’m sorry to contradict an old saying, but no tax collector has ever performed as flawlessly as the Reaper.

We may not all be born or live as equals, but no one can deny we all die equally.

Is there any value in spirituality? As an atheist you may expect me to say no; but if I’m being honest, I’d have to consider myself a spiritual person. Of course I’m not talking about some ghostly ethereal soul that lives inside my body. There’s no reason to think there’s anything like that. I’m talking about the essence of human. There aren’t many words in our language that capture what that is. at least for me. And so I use the word spirit, in the same way I use the phrase bless you. For rhetoric’s sake. I can only describe it as the action or ability to see beauty. to feel wonder. and to be in awe.

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Too often we discuss human suffering and starvation in the abstract. We have a vague notion of what starving children are suffering, but for too many of us the concept isn’t real enough.

Let this image make human suffering real for you. Let this image stir your humanity. Suffering is real and we do have the means to relieve it. Politics and religion get in the way of providing children like this any real relief. We must listen to our sense of humanity, we must accept the family of man. We will never solve these very real and deadly issues so long as we allow ourselves to think that these children and our children are different, that there’s no commonality between us.

Bigotry would be difficult to practice in a world where everyone accepted the inherent equality of all people, where we all saw each other as equal human beings. By creating divisions between people, by emphasizing differences instead of emphasizing similarities, religious beliefs provide fuel to the bigots fire. Religious self-righteousness is the gasoline poured on the flames.

In our modern world of in-store music, cell phones, MP3 players, computers and televisions we hardly have a moment of silence in our daily life. Our brains are being constantly bombarded with input without a free moment to assimilate it.

One practice common to religion that can be incredibly useful to anyone is meditation or contemplation. We all need some time, every day, to enjoy true silence. We need to be able to think without interruption. We require silence to hear our inner voice, our own thoughts. Without a chance to listen to our own thoughts we are only able to process the input from outside, thoughts and impressions not our own.

…But what concerns me as much or more about incessant connection through Twitter, texting, Facebook, Crackberrys, and yes, even 24/7 instant news … is that all those technologies enhance an already bad inclination humans (and especially Americans) have. And that is: an overweening desire to be distracted from being alone in silence … or having to come to terms with whatever we might find there, if we slowed down enough to let it catch us.

Twitter, Facebook and cell phones didn’t create this desire or problem. I’ve known people all my life who turned the television on as soon as they woke up in the morning and left it on until they went to bed at night, just to insure there was never complete silence in the house. All that the new connectivity, on-line virtual game options, and instant messaging do is make it easier to avoid the awful specter of silent, alone time. And yet … just try to imagine Henry David Thoreau writing his masterpiece about Walden Pond while twittering, texting, and watching CNN.

But among the many things that life has taught me over the years is that my first thought isn’t always my best thought. And that truly understanding anything … an issue, an event, or even the emotions swirling around within myself … requires not just time, but enough space, solitude, and silence to allow some clear tones to emerge from the noise.

On one level, people have understood the power and importance of silence for a long time. It’s why we go to the woods, or the ocean, or up on mountainsides to renew ourselves. And why we take up meditation, or spend time in quiet cathedrals. But even the most majestic mountainside loses a large piece of its power to inspire if it has to compete with a cell phone, text reply, or other efforts to stay connected elsewhere at the same time. Or even to record the moment, instead of simply being in it.

Where there’s a will there’s a way, of course. Which is what makes me suspect that at least part of the constant connectivity movement and technology stems from an inherent desire, within many of us, to have all that distraction. We are not, as a species, hard-wired for solitude. We’re social animals, made to exist in tribes and packs.

And yet … there’s a unique kind of strength that comes from simply sitting in companionship with yourself and listening for what your heart or the world might tell you. Or allowing thoughts or events to percolate slowly against counter-thoughts, opinions, or trends. My best ideas don’t occur to me when I’m feverishly involved in churning out words. They come when I give my mind permission to listen instead of talk. To just be for a while. Undistracted. Undisturbed. And sometimes not even consciously focused on the problem at hand.

Humans used to be thought of as occupying an existential space between animals and gods. Clearly our bodies display our affinity to animals, while our minds possess intellectual and moral capacities seemingly beyond the reach of physical objects. This even led some to identify us with either animals (we are mammals) or gods (we are immortal, immaterial souls). (Source-Philosophy Now)

As our understanding of the brain’s inner workings increases, we are just beginning to suspect that in our egocentric view of our place in the animal kingdom we have given ourselves too much credit and other animals too little.

Cleo, my significant other

For centuries, humans have imagined they are the only animals with morals. But humans are not alone in the moral arena, a new breed of behavior experts says.

Dogs are full of natural goodness and have rich emotional lives, said animal behaviorist Marc Bekoff, professor emeritus at the University of Colorado, Boulder.

A dog’s code of ethics is on display daily in parks, backyards and family rooms.

“We’re not trying to elevate animals,” Bekoff said. “We’re not trying to reduce humans. We’re not saying we’re better or worse or the same. We’re saying we’re not alone in having a nuanced moral system.”

Bekoff, co-author of “Wild Justice: The Moral Lives of Animals,” spent thousands of hours observing coyotes, wolves and dogs. He analyzed videotapes frame by frame. The work convinced him these animals possess empathy and compassion, the emotions upon which moral sense is built.

While much the same can be said of monkeys, wolves, elephants, dolphins, whales and other social animals, dogs are special cases; they share in human lives, he said.

“Dogs know they are dependent. They learn to read us,” Bekoff said. “Dogs develop this great sense of trust. We’re tightly linked, and there is something spiritual about that unity.”

“I’m convinced many animals can distinguish right from wrong,” Bekoff said.

He said looking for the roots of morality in animals is a difficult scientific undertaking. It begins with looking for emotions central to morality, such as empathy: understanding of another’s situation, feelings and motives.

In humans, emotions are centered in specific brain structures and are affected by chemicals called neurotransmitters. Mammals possess the same brain structures, affected by the same chemicals as humans.

“Dogs apparently laugh,” Page said. The same brain structures show the same activity in laughing humans and in dogs that are enjoying themselves. A dog’s laugh is a rhythmic pant.

To prevent any misunderstanding, a dog will signal to another dog that the imminent jostling, nipping and chasing are “just play” rather than aggression, he said.

The game is initiated with the “play bow.” A dog, wolf or coyote will crouch on its forelimbs while keeping its rear upright.

Any hard-biting cheats find themselves excluded from games.

“Dogs are thinking animals,” Bekoff said. “They seek the outcomes they want. They avoid the ones they don’t. They solve problems. They have expectations. They have hopes.”

Critics skeptical about some research trends in animal thinking, emotion and morality downplay the evidence as often anecdotal and anthropomorphic, that is attributing human motivation or characteristics to animals.

Bekoff countered that thousands of anecdotes equal data. And anthropomorphism, he said, is a misleading label for what is a shared evolutionary history.

Humans and dogs share most of their genes and a great deal of physiology and behavior. Bekoff sees that shared heritage extending into the spiritual realm. (Source-Seattle Times)

Our belief that we are somehow separate from and superior to nature has been one of the worst attitudes humanity has ever entertained. It has caused us to defile the only planet in the accessable universe upon which we can survive. It blinds us to the beauty and true spirituality of nature. Through ignorance and egotistic presumption we have crowned ourselves kings of the planet.

We don’t deserve that crown. We don’t need the crown, either.

We need to train ourselves, convince ourselves, free ourselves to realize we are but parts of the whole. We are not worth more than other lifeforms, we are not worth less. All life is but a part of the nature of the planet. You are not more important to the universe than your dog, nor are you any less important than your dog. You both have unique and complimentary roles to play in the natural order. Perhaps the most uncomfortable reality is that neither of you mean very much to the universe. Humanity, indeed all life on this planet, is a minute percentage of the matter in the universe. In the overall scheme of things, we are less noticeable to the rest of reality than the dust mites in your pillow.

It’s OK to not be the center of the universe. It’s a good thing to understand our place in nature while at the same time using the advantages nature has endowed upon us with humility and a sense of responsibility.

This is another dangerous lie we’ve let ourselves believe to be true; because we were put here by a “higher power” who created everything and is ultimately responsible for everything, we are not responsible for our own existence. It’s all someone else’s doing. We are but bit parts in the war between good and evil personified as gods and devils. We have abdicated responsibility and lived like frat boys on Spring break. Those who grew up following Buddhism and Taoism better understand our place in the universe.

We cannot escape the outcome of our folly. The effects of our presense here are coming back to bite us. Yet we are advancing in our knowledge of how to live more responsibly, and more people around the planet are starting to do what they can to reduce their impact on the Earth. Perhaps mankind will eventually learn to live in harmony with the rest of nature globally.

Cleo has let me know that I’ve been ignoring her for too long and she requires my attention. And I need hers. Time to slide the keyboard away.

Richard Dawkins, in his book The God Delusion, has described Pantheism as “sexed-up atheism.” That may seem flippant, but it is accurate. Of all religious or spiritual traditions, Pantheism – the approach of Einstein, Hawking and many other scientists – is the only one that passes the muster of the world’s most militant atheist.

So what’s the difference between Atheism and Pantheism? As far as disbelief in supernatural beings, forces or realms, there is no difference. World Pantheism also shares the respect for evidence, science, and logic that’s typical of atheism.

However, Pantheism goes further, and adds to atheism an embracing, positive and reverential feeling about our lives on planet Earth, our place in Nature and the wider Universe, and uses nature as our basis for dealing with stress, grief and bereavement. (Source of all quotes)

Prior to reading this, I confess my perception of pantheism was very different. Based almost solely on my interpretation of “pan” as meaning broad or all encompassing, and theism as god belief, I heard “pantheism” and thought “a group who believes all gods exist”.

Since I have no reason to suppose that a description put together by those who espouse these attitudes is inaccurate, I will accept that the above fairly describes the positions of a pantheist.

By those standards, I could be a pantheist. But why should I? Does “pantheist” better sum up my attitudes toward life, death and the universe than the group with which I currently identify, humanists?

Where the author draws a distinction between atheism and pantheism (“Pantheism goes further, and adds to atheism an embracing, positive and reverential feeling about our lives on planet Earth, our place in Nature and the wider Universe, and uses nature as our basis for dealing with stress, grief and bereavement“), they fail to draw a clear distinction between humanism and pantheism.

As far as atheism is concerned, the last sentence in the following paragraph struck a chord.

If you are looking for atheist groups or freethought groups or brights groups and email lists, and if you would like ones that do a lot more than just attack religion, then you may well find World Pantheism the place you were looking for.

I agree that the worst part about using the term “atheist” is that it’s such a negative and limited concept. It’s the description of one among many “dis-beliefs” I have. It’s vague and potentially inaccurate. It’s not descriptive of the positive beliefs I hold. There does seem to be an emphasis on attacking religion in the word “atheist” that doesn’t accurately reflect my position on theism.

So I prefer to describe myself as a humanist. I believe in humans, I appreciate humanity and am learning every day about our place on this planet. That, to me, is what “spirituality” is all about.

I don’t see what pantheism has to offer that can’t be embraced under the banner of humanism. It does have a negative aspect to its name that humanism doesn’t. Those who are no better informed than I was about what pantheism stands for will, as I did, suspect that it’s some form of theism. Humanists may frequently be considered atheists, which isn’t always accurate but is in my case, so I don’t mind that association. I perceive pantheism as a bit too vague a name (though not in the same way as “atheist”) and potentially misleading.

Any pantheists out there want to correct my perceptions?

Fred McFeely Rogers, known to practically every American (and quite a few others as well) as Mr. Rodgers, was the host of the television show Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, in production from 1968 to 2001. Rogers was an ordained Presbyterian minister as well as being an educator and songwriter.

Mr. Rogers was that most rare of individuals, a religious believer who didn’t talk about his beliefs publically but instead displayed them. He showed what it means to live a Christian life. Even non-believers find themselves agreeing that Fred Rogers was a nice person. He was a decent human being. When you’re that swell of a person it doesn’t really matter what the motivation is for it. If Jesus is the reason you’re that nice, then great. If Buddhism, the Amish or the Flying spaghetti Monster are the reason you are an all-around wise, patient, considerate, moderate, compassionate human being, carry on. If your way of shoving your religion in my face is to be the kind of person everyone wants as a friend, shove away.

I remember as a teen being impressed that he wasn’t stuffy, an attribute applicable to far too many Protestant ministers. He wasn’t a conservative, he didn’t feel a need to yell about sinners and hellfire. His show was one of the first I can recall that had Black children as guests without making an issue of race. Fred treated girls the same way he did the boys. He was gentle, kind, fascinated with his guests, he listened to others and spoke with care. He lived the values he believed.

My own opinion is that religious belief didn’t make Fred Rogers the type of man he was. I suspect he was a decent human being naturally and found that religious belief reinforced his attitude toward life and other people, especially children. I feel much the same. A religious life, the kind lived by Thomas Merton, Francis of Assisi and Mr. Rogers, would suit my personality and interests to a tee. Unfortunately I have to divorce the positives of religious practice from the fantasies of religious belief. I could not in good faith (pun unavoidable) accept religious belief.

BoingBoing‘s Cory Doctorow writes,

The latest Tank Riot podcast is an outstanding appreciation of
Mister Rogers, possibly the nicest, most genuine guy in American
history — a man so nice that when his car was stolen, the thieves
returned it once they figured out whose car it was; a man so nice that
he was able to stop a Burger King ad that used a soundalike by publicly
declaring that he was “disappointed” in them. Rogers saved public TV
and was critical in the fight to legalize VCRs, too. This is a really
great hour of audio — the Tank Riot guys really know a lot about the
subject are are filled with genuine affection for him (I defy you to
listen to his Congressional testimony without getting a tear in your
eye).

Tank Riot: Episode 67

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Kindness was mankind’s “greatest delight”, the Roman philosopher-emperor Marcus Aurelius declared, and thinkers and writers have echoed him down the centuries. But today many people find these pleasures literally incredible, or at least highly suspect. An image of the self has been created that is utterly lacking in natural generosity. Most people appear to believe that deep down they (and other people) are mad, bad and dangerous to know; that as a species – apparently unlike other species of animal – we are deeply and fundamentally antagonistic to each other, that our motives are utterly self-seeking and that our sympathies are forms of self-protectiveness.

Kindness – not sexuality, not violence, not money – has become our forbidden pleasure. In one sense kindness is always hazardous because it is based on a susceptibility to others, a capacity to identify with their pleasures and sufferings. Putting oneself in someone else’s shoes, as the saying goes, can be very uncomfortable. But if the pleasures of kindness – like all the greatest human pleasures – are inherently perilous, they are none the less some of the most satisfying we possess.

In 1741 the Scottish philosopher David Hume, confronted by a school of philosophy that held mankind to be irredeemably selfish, lost patience. Any person foolish enough to deny the existence of human kindness had simply lost touch with emotional reality, Hume insisted: “He has forgotten the movements of his heart.”

For nearly all of human history – up to and beyond Hume’s day, the so-called dawn of modernity – people have perceived themselves as naturally kind. In giving up on kindness – and especially our own acts of kindness – we deprive ourselves of a pleasure that is fundamental to our sense of well-being.

Today it is only between parents and children that kindness is expected, sanctioned and indeed obligatory. Kindness – that is, the ability to bear the vulnerability of others, and therefore of oneself – has become a sign of weakness (except of course among saintly people, in whom it is a sign of their exceptionality). No one yet says parents should stop being kind to their children. None the less, we have become phobic of kindness in our societies, avoiding obvious acts of kindness and producing, as we do with phobias, endless rationalisations to justify our avoidance.

All compassion is self-pity, DH Lawrence remarked, and this usefully formulates the widespread modern suspicion of kindness: that it is either a higher form of selfishness (the kind that is morally triumphant and secretly exploitative) or the lowest form of weakness (kindness is the way the weak control the strong, the kind are kind only because they haven’t got the guts to be anything else). If we think of humans as essentially competitive, and therefore triumphalist by inclination, as we are encouraged to do, then kindness looks distinctly old-fashioned, indeed nostalgic, a vestige from a time when we could recognise ourselves in each other, and feel sympathetic because of our kindness – if such a time ever existed. And what, after all, can kindness help us win, except moral approval; or possibly not even that, in a society where “respect” for personal status has become a leading value.

Most people, as they grow up now, secretly believe that kindness is a virtue of losers. But agreeing to talk about winners and losers is part and parcel of the phobic avoidance, the contemporary terror, of kindness. Because one of the things the enemies of kindness never ask themselves – and this is now an enemy within all of us – is why we feel it at all. Why are we ever, in any way, moved to be kind to other people, not to mention to ourselves? Why does kindness matter to us? It is, perhaps, one of the distinctive things about kindness – unlike an abstract moral ideal such as justice – that in the end we know exactly what it is, in most everyday situations; and yet our knowing what the kind act is makes it easier to avoid. We usually know what the kind thing to do is – and when a kindness is done to us, and when it is not. We usually have the wherewithal to do it (kindness is not an expert skill); and it gives us pleasure. And yet we are extremely disturbed by it. There is nothing we feel more consistently deprived of than kindness; the unkindness of others has become our contemporary complaint. Kindness consistently preoccupies us, and yet most of us are unable to live a life guided by it.

Too often we’re embarassed by the softer side of our humanity. We frequently view kindness, compassion and empathy as weaknesses and something to be exploited in others. But it’s precisely our willingness to express kindness, compassion and empathy that makes us strong. Strength of character is measured by different means than strength of body. The strength in your limbs may decrease due to age or disability. But strength of character is unaffected by illness, disease or age.

We should never be afraid or ashamed to express kindness. We should never hesitate to encourage the expression of kindness by others. Let’s all keep our eyes open for those daily opportunities to practice SAOK…small acts of kindness. You’ll be a better person for it at the end of the day.