Category: Folklore

We understand that the faithful live in an inspissated gloaming of incense and obfuscation, through the swirls of which it is hard to see anything clearly, so a simple lesson in semantics might help to clear the air for them on the meanings of "secular", "humanist" and "atheist". Once they have succeeded in understanding these terms they will grasp that none of them imply "faith" in anything, and that it is not possible to be a "fundamentalist" with respect to any of them. 

People who do not believe in supernatural entities do not have a "faith" in "the non-existence of X" (where X is "fairies" or "goblins" or "gods"); what they have is a reliance on reason and observation, and a concomitant preparedness to accept the judgment of both on the principles and theories that premise their actions. The views they take about things are proportional to the evidence supporting them, and are always subject to change in the light of new or better evidence.

"Faith" – specifically and precisely: the commitment to a belief in the absence of evidence supporting that belief, or even (to the greater merit of the believer) in the very teeth of evidence contrary to that belief – is a far different thing, which is why the phrase "religious thinktank" has a certain comic quality to it: for faith at its quickly-reached limit is the negation of thought.  

Studies suggest that people who speak in tongues rarely suffer from mental problems. A recent study of nearly 1,000 evangelical Christians in England found that those who engaged in the practice were more emotionally stable than those who did not. 

The passionate, sometimes rhythmic, language-like patter that pours forth from religious people who “speak in tongues” reflects a state of mental possession, many of them say. Now they have some neuroscience to back them up. 

Ms. Morgan, a co-author of the study, was also a research subject. She is a born-again Christian who says she considers the ability to speak in tongues a gift. “You’re aware of your surroundings,” she said. “You’re not really out of control. But you have no control over what’s happening. You’re just flowing. You’re in a realm of peace and comfort, and it’s a fantastic feeling.”

“Somehow,” he writes, “the universe has engineered, not just its own awareness, but its own comprehension. Mindless, blundering atoms have conspired to make, not just life, not just mind, but understanding. The evolving cosmos has spawned beings who are able not merely to watch the show, but to unravel the plot.”

 

What exactly is Davies saying? His starting point is the “highly significant” fact that the universe supports people who understand its laws. “I wanted to get away from the feeling in so many scientific quarters that life and human beings are a completely irrelevant embellishment, a side issue of no significance. I don’t think we’re the centre of the universe or the pinnacle of creation, but the fact that human beings have the ability to understand how the world is put together is something that cries out for explanation.”

Many areas of science are legitimising religious thought in ways regarded as inconceivable for much of the past century and half. Quantum physicists question our understanding of reality and Hindus respond: "So what’s new?"; neuroscientists formulate understandings of consciousness and Buddhists retort as politely as possible: "We told you so."

Some people do prefer to live in a thought-world where priests and mullahs claim to decide what is true. Others prefer to live in a thought-world where ideas about what is true are lenient, flexible, fuzzy around the edges; where it is possible to sort-of-believe, half-believe and half-hope, believe in an as if or storytelling or daydreaming way. Others prefer – genuinely prefer, not merely think they’re supposed to – to try and figure out what really is true, as opposed to what might be, or appears to be, or should be.

Tynwald Hill is always quoted as being at this location in St. Johns (the Wikipedia article does the same). Yet, I recall my father saying that the original location was in fact near St. Lukes chapel at the Baldwins, and there certainly is a mound there. Perhaps it is an old burial mound though, and not the original Tynwald Hill. 

Update: just done a bit of Googling, and interestingly enough, perhaps my father was right. There are references to "a Tynwald Hill near Keill Abban which may have been a yet earlier place of assembly". It’s by a place (Algare) that translates as "Ridge of Justice". There’s also this reference to an excursion in 1900 to this feature, and the reference states that it was the old Tynwald Hill. And it is interesting that if you look at the map of the Island, this spot is pretty damn close to being in the centre of the Island – much closer than St. Johns turns out to be. It’s also on the "Royal Road" of the Island – the path that from the earliest times ran from the South of the Island to the North.