Blogging wasn’t in the cards

For anyone, should they actually exist, who has been stopping by and not finding any new posts, I apologize. On occasion, circumstances inhibit sitting down and working on posts, and this particular occasion was a move. We are now in a new house!

I take no credit for this whatsoever; it was all The Girlfriend’s accomplishment. Well, okay, that sounds like I didn’t even help with the move, which isn’t true at all, but what I mean by that is, it’s her house, and her finances that permitted it. She is quite pleased with it, and rightfully so. It’s in a considerably nicer neighborhood, not terribly far from the old place (which made moving a little easier,) but a lot more convenient to her work, and various useful shops. We will not be missing the old place, or the obnoxious neighbors, in any way at all.

And that goes for my own pursuits as well. I had actually planned to bring along a few of the mantises that had hatched back there, but found that a Japanese maple tree at the new place already plays host to a large number of Chinese mantises (got the Asian thing going on,) and I didn’t feel the need to introduce competition. The butterfly bush came along for transplant, along with the salvia plant and my almond tree, but the rosemary bush had grown too large to move, so we’ll have to start a new one here (and yes, we did get lots of cuttings to do this.)

Chinese mantis on Japanese maple
I was watching the almond tree with trepidation for the past few weeks, since the local white-tailed deer had a tendency to let it get fully leafed out before stripping more than half of the leaves away early in the morning; this is how they feed, browsing for tasty leaves or shoots but not killing off the provider, and then leaving it alone for a few weeks to replenish their food source before returning. My little tree, which had sprouted spontaneously from a discarded almond in the compost bin a few years back, had produced its first leaves in the spring and then been stripped several weeks ago. It had reproduced its foliage, and was due for a return visit; I figured it would get nailed right before the move, but the deer waited too long and I was able to transplant it intact.

The cats, it must be said, did not handle the move with feline grace; the more appropriate term is, “freaked out.” For a couple of days, they slunk around the new place like feral strays, jumping at every sound, and spending a lot of time deep in a closet. Eventually, they determined they were not intruding on someone else’s territory and could claim this as their own, and soon discovered the delight of stairs and a balcony overlooking the living room. A few days later when they were mellow, they were permitted to explore the screened-in back porch, which was all kinds of okay to them.

Little Girl, or is it Zoe? chilling in the window.
I, myself, am still recovering – my hands, feet, legs, and back took a beating, and of course I’m doing the typical post-move endeavor of trying to find where I packed this or that crucial thing. It doesn’t matter how organized you try to be, I think – Chaos will take over and make you dance to his discordant tune. I suspect I will get back into posting slowly, so for now I’ll just close with a small crab spider, genus Mecaphesa, that I shot during the final stages of packing. She measures 6mm across the tucked legs, so, not exactly an imposing specimen unless you’re tiny (or extremely arachnophobic.) I have spotted several interesting arthropods in the immediate vicinity, but so far have only taken the time to photograph the mantis above – I’ll try to amend that soon.

Mecaphesa crab spider in defensive posture

Near invisibility potion

Honeysuckle genitals
The other day I went out chasing pics again, and didn’t really snag much of merit. But while playing around with macro shots of honeysuckle flowers, I captured a few frames that illustrate a peculiar, and sometimes handy, photographic trait. It takes some explaining, so bear with me.

First, the illustration. These are two frames from almost exactly the same vantage point, with just a change of focus in between. The green stigma is in front of the yellow anthers bearing the pollen in both images. But as can be seen, it is rendered almost invisible in the right side, plainly semi-transparent.

composite image showing defocus transparency
How can this occur?

The first thing to remember is, when we look at something with our naked, or even demurely clad, eyes, we’re seeing through the tiny hole of our pupil. Photons that reflect from any surface all have to pass through this opening for us to see anything, and the size of the opening restricts both how many photons can come through, and from what angle. Objects reflect light not just towards us, but in all directions; most of it we simply do not see. And in the case of the stigma and anther, as illustrated in the top part of the image below, the stigma is sufficient to block most of our view of the anther.

Defocus transparency illustration
But a camera lens, and indeed many other lenses such as telescopes and binoculars, are different. They’re much larger than our pupils, so they capture a much greater percentage of the light reflecting from an object, everything that hits their front surface – properly focused, they take all of these photons, every path that meets the lens, and converge them back into a sharp image. The larger the lens surface (which usually means the ‘faster,’ or the greater the aperture,) the more light is gathered. This is why a 300mm f2.8 lens is so much larger than a 300mm f5.6.

This means that the green stigma may not necessarily block the view of the yellow anther, because the lens can also see past the stigma, to either side, above and below. While a portion of the view is blocked, not all of it is, so some of the light from the anther comes past. This gets focused down onto the film/sensor plane (shown in deep green.)

Yet, what about the green stigma? It’s still there, and still sending its own reflected light to the lens, right? True enough, but it’s out of focus, so the light paths do not converge back down into a sharp image; instead, the light is somewhat scattered, diffused over a greater area, while the light from the yellow anther is concentrated tightly (this pretty much defines the difference between unfocused and focused.) Light from the green stigma hits the film/sensor in the same place as light from the yellow anther, but the anther’s light is more concentrated, and overpowers the stigma’s. It’s not exactly transparency, it’s just that the object with the most light takes precedent.

This method works best when there is a large difference in focus (which usually translates as distance) between two subjects, and can be used to blur out a fence that blocks our view, for example. The higher the depth of field, of course, the weaker the effect, because the light from the green stigma would become more focused and concentrated. Since lenses are usually at maximum aperture while we’re framing our subject, only closing down to the desired shooting aperture after we trip the shutter, this can sometimes play against the macro photographer: when chasing subjects down among the plants, a leaf or stem can actually be directly between the camera and the chosen subject, but so far out of focus that it is virtually transparent to us through the viewfinder – only to burst into sharper focus and obliterate the subject when the shutter is tripped and the aperture closes down, re-concentrating the light from the leaf/stem. If the object is bright enough, even well out of focus it can throw a color cast across the subject, exactly as seen above.

Our eyes have lenses too, and the effect is exactly the same, but since they’re much smaller it is not as pronounced, and we tend to ignore it when it occurs. However, you can close one eye and hold something narrow like a toothpick vertically in your vision path while focused on something well past the toothpick, and see the same effect, just probably not to as high a transparency as the photo shows. Also, since we have two eyes, the other one may have a clearer view, and our brains can select which eye to give its attention to, so issues only arise on those rare occasions when either eye has a radically different view from the other, such as when we try to see into a narrow gap (especially when we want the depth-perception that two eyes provide.)

I have a page dedicated to explaining how and why aperture affects focus, if you want further information – just click here. It also explains some of the weird things that might occur, and why there is a limit to closing down aperture to increase depth of field.

I’m a dude

I had to wash off some things outside a short while ago, and while draining the hose, I set the sprayer for ‘mist’ and applied a liberal coating to grasses where I knew some of the praying mantises lived; I was rewarded with seeing one of them scamper up and begin drinking deeply from the water droplets adhering to the leaves. Of course, I trotted (it might have been a canter, come to think of it) inside myself and grabbed the camera. The recipient of my largesse, however, did not acquiesce to displaying this as I loomed nearby with the softbox rig.

There are at least three mantids that have moved to the dog fennel plants, however – this does not seem to have been the most advantageous action as they remain smaller than their brethren; either that, or there was another hatching that I remained unaware of. But since the one on the grasses appreciated the moisture, I brought out the misting bottle and heavily doused the areas on the dog fennel where the other mantids were out foraging. They appreciated this as much as the first, and eagerly sucked up what adhered to the leaves before the sun (which is quite bright and hot today) evaporated this windfall. Perhaps ‘windfall’ is not the right word here…

juvenile Chinese mantis gathering water
Seen here, one that had borne the full effect of the misting draws up water from its forelegs, having swept its eyes clear. If you don’t have a little misting bottle to carry in the camera bag, get one. Mine is from a purse-sized Jheri Curl, after I used the product up keeping my ‘fro dashing. (The true story is, I went to the drugstore specifically to find a misting bottle for photographic purposes, but everything they had was too big for the camera bag – until I spotted a clearance bin on the way out with items for a buck; that was fifteen years ago, and I still use that mister.)

Lest you think the mantis might not have appreciated this soaking, I wish to point out that not only do they suffer much worse than this during downpours and even fog, any of them could have easily dodged deeper into the dog fennel had they felt the urge – they certainly do it often enough as I lean in for a nice portrait. They get most of their fluids from overnight dew, and it did hit the dewpoint last night, but they still took advantage of the misting I provided, so, cool!

Not deep

I’m still here, and still largely busy – it’s going to be a lean posting month, but I’ll still try to put something up from time to time.

[“From time to time” – isn’t that a stupid phrase? Who makes these things up, and did they have any think what word good is?]

A few days back we received torrential rain, which is not to say this is any more remarkable than the rest of the country, but only as a lead-in, since it spurred me to go down to the river. I’ve seen plenty of evidence that it rises dramatically, yet never been down there to witness it firsthand, so I stopped down briefly the morning after the deluge. Below is a comparison composite image, the left side taken a few years ago but representative of typical conditions, while the right is the level Friday morning.

river depth comparison
It’s the same boulder in the middle of both pics, except one is seen aiming downstream while the other shooting across from the small point seen in the former. I wasn’t going to go wading in the river that day.

You can see how the river is flooding the banks in the right image, and as I stood there, a largish snapping turtle appeared between the tree and I, struggling desperately to gain a foothold on the flooded bank before vanishing back into the torrent; I had barely raised the camera and didn’t even lock focus before it was gone.

flooded footpathThis is part of the path that winds alongside the river, only about 20 cm under water at this point so I was still able to follow it – I spend the non-winter months in waterproof sandals specifically for conditions like this, because I think it’s silly to let a little water block me from something interesting. My feet are so used to this that I rarely notice the water temperature at all, unless it gets really extreme. [An example of this was when my dad visited one winter and we went out to the Outer Banks. He snagged a favorite and expensive fishing lure on something not far offshore, while casting in Croatan Sound off Roanoke Island, and I waded in barefoot to try and retrieve it – the water temperature did not exceed 4°c (40°f.) It took two attempts and became pretty painful, turning my lower legs beet red, but I got the lure and recovered quickly. I still find the people who go swimming in freezing weather to be morons, though.]

New, untouched silt and debris were distributed onto the path at higher elevations than this as well, indicating that the water level had been at least a half-meter higher, and probably more like a meter, sometime the previous night. It’s difficult to predict how hard this is on the local animal life; I know beavers often live in hollows in the banks, and water snakes are common, but both of these need air and can be drowned in their dens if the water level traps them within. Animals such as deer than venture into the rapids can easily be swept away, and the debris that is carried can be pretty dangerous even to animals that can handle the turbulent water.

There’s not much else going on. I haven’t been tackling any philosophical ideas recently, and I have a number of posts in draft form but nothing I feel too motivated to finish. It goes that way sometimes, and while I occasionally feel bad for not putting up new content, I also made up my mind long ago not to post for the sake of posting (whether I’m succeeding in that resolve remains to be seen, I suppose.)

Even the arthropods have been fairly scarce. The mantids dispersed quickly throughout the yard, and I occasionally spot one but they’re still shy about close contact; at their size, anything that shows detail at all is close contact, so good shots are tricky.

One exception is a variety of treehopper that has descended on the erupting dog fennel plants. I had to check just now to determine what the difference was between treehopper and leafhopper; basically, treehoppers look like thorns while leafhoppers look like buds or seeds. I also had to add both words to my computer’s dictionary so it would stop highlighting them as misspelled; it seems to think either should be two separate words, or hyphenated at least.

Entylia carinata
Entylia carinata and stem damageThis is an Entylia carinata, no apparent common name, and a significant number appeared on the plants overnight it seems. They run about 5mm in length, and have a tendency (like all ‘hoppers) to scuttle around to the back side of the stem when someone leans close, so it took quite a few tries to get a nice shot. The pic at right, in fact, is one I consider a ‘miss’ except for one thing: I’m pretty sure the discoloration of the plant stem beneath the treehopper is from the damage that they do while sucking out the sap. The amount of nutrients they extract from the sap is minimal, so they draw a lot and process it through their systems pretty quickly, excreting the rest as ‘dew’ that is often harvested by ants. No ants were taking advantage of these, however, even though the species is known as a favorite of them. I’ll keep my eyes open, since while I have a few images of ants farming leafhoppers and aphids, I’d still like some more detailed examples.

I’ll close, despite my disparaging comments above, with a mantis image. It might seem strange, but different individual insects can display different ‘personalities,’ or to be more accurate, varying responses to the same stimulus. What this means is some of the mantids from the same hatching are quite spooky and go for cover if I make the wrong move, while at least one other seems pretty tolerant of me leaning close with the camera and flash/softbox rig. Since this one has moved to a patch of some ornamental grass next to the rosemary bush, I am confident that I’m encountering the same individual, who has now taken on a more distinctive green hue. While larger, this one is still only 20 mm in overall length, so you can imagine how small the head is. In contrast, the sibling who has moved to the dog fennel plants is far more circumspect, and hasn’t allowed any decent images at all, much less a menacing portrait of this nature.
Chinese mantis portrait

Spoke too soon

Looking at the nest box only minutes ago, and it appeared the parents were still trying to feed their nonexistent young, and so I decided to see if the snake was still present. There was a small surprise waiting therein.

surviving bluebird fledgling
Go back down and look at that other image. Do you see any hint of this guy in there? Yeah, me neither, through multiple frames too. But it did explain why I thought I’d heard a peep while outside the nest box, shining my flashlight through the opening – after finding nothing but the snake, I put it down to coming from the mother nearby. Somewhere under or among those coils, however, sat this little sprog, apparently a helping the snake couldn’t stomach. Either that or he fought his way out…

The Girlfriend’s gonna be pissed

One of the bluebird boxes has been playing host to a new family of eastern bluebirds (Sialia sialis) this spring, but I’ve been too busy to do much about it. Still, I was trying to keep an eye on it to possibly catch the emergence of the fledged youngsters, something I’ve missed every time previously. Many birds will bail the nest but spend time on the ground and low branches, learning how to get control of their flight surfaces, but bluebirds apparently get through this stage pretty quickly, like within hours at the most. So I took a peek in the nest box this morning to see how well their feathers were developed, to determine if I should try to set up a camera trap. What the flashlight revealed was that I needn’t bother with this brood any more.

black rat snake coiled in bluebird box
That’s a black rat snake (Elaphe obsoleta obsoleta,) not a terribly big one as far as they go – while they can reach two meters or so in length, I’m guessing from the size of the head that this one is closer to one meter. It had consumed all of the bluebird fledglings, and was crassly using the box as a safe haven to digest its meal. It was well aware of me opening the box for the pics, and was simply holding still in the hopes that I’d go away.

CreatureOfHabitSome of this is perhaps our fault. We’d placed two nest boxes on stumps that had once been huge bushes, which the landlord’s inept assistants had hacked down to some strange modern sculptures – I suspect they misinterpreted their instructions, since the pampas grass in the yard needs to be cut back to nothing each winter. It’s a grass, it grows back; the bushes didn’t. But it means the nest boxes were placed lower to the ground on a handy climbing surface, and black rat snakes are serious climbers.

The adults were definitely confused by this development. They chattered quite a lot more than I usually hear them, and made repeated attempts to enter the box, usually hovering just outside for a few moments – you can even see this one is bearing food. They had to be aware that there was a snake in the box, and they were in as much danger as their young, but it hadn’t overcome their feeding instincts. They don’t have a lot of time to get over this; snakes can consume a lot of food when they want to, letting it cover them for days, weeks, or even months at a time, and if this one decides it can squeeze in an adult, it only has to strike while one of them peeks into the box again.

Had I discovered the snake before it found the young, I might have intervened, moving it to another location – or maybe not; this is how nature plays the game after all. But at this point I’m just leaving the situation as is – another thing The Girlfriend might be displeased with, since she’s not fond of snakes. Yet the damage is already done and the snake has likely lived in the area for at least a couple of years, judging from its size.

As a quick note, if you really want to avoid this fate for any bluebird boxes you erect, about the best you can do is use a freestanding pole, at least 150 cm (five feet) in height, with a squirrel collar well beneath the box. Just about anything else is able to be circumvented by snakes. Or you can take it all as it comes, circle of life and all that – predators routinely thin out the bird populations, and this has been going on for a long time. Our personal feelings towards cute birds and evil snakes isn’t going to improve on it at all, and is in fact pretty self-centered.

Update: Appearances can be deceiving.

Just because, part 16

dew on redbud leavesA couple of pics from early yesterday morning, while it was cool and humid – I was going to put these up last evening but the internet went down. I haven’t been posting much, and this is likely to continue for a while, but I had the chance to chase a few images in the morning. I made an attempt to spot some of the juvenile mantids, since they’re photogenic when bespeckled with dew, but I suspect it got a little too cold for them – the only insects I found were a few elaborate leafhoppers on the dog fennel.

Due to the number of trees in the area, few parts of the yard get any real light from early sunrise – it’s mostly narrow beams peeking briefly through the branches. The redbud tree would only have a handful of leaves backlit by the sun for just a minute or so at a time, forcing me to select a composition quickly. Doing this handheld meant a large aperture and thus short depth; a smaller aperture to increase depth would have required a tripod, and by the time everything was framed up the light would have moved on. I could only have one-half of the leaf in focus at a time, because of the faint V-fold shape, but found one catching the sun through the burden of dew. I confess that this is actually a composite image – the one frame I got with ideal focus had clipped the edge off the background leaf, due to my slight change in position, so I dubbed in a wider perspective from another frame.

Below, a dramatic shot catching the sun shining brightly on a dandelion tuft – the exposure meter compensated for the sunlight coming directly into the lens and rendered the bloom moodily dark, when in reality it was the brightest spot in the yard. I liked the peculiar effect around the light – while the impression is that this is the sun itself, it’s actually the glare from multiple narrow beams peeking through the distant foliage, rendered way out of focus, thus the edge effects. The little solar flare visible at top, however, is either a smear on the lens that I hadn’t spotted, or the vapor of the dew itself evaporating. We’ll go with the latter, because it’s more interesting and doesn’t indicate that I’ve been neglecting my lens cleaning…
DandySunrise

Telegraph Road (live of course)

Dire Straits was a band that, it’s safe to say, forged their own way right from the start. I’ve seen numerous people attempt to define their style, with little agreement, and I’m not even going to try; they adopted whatever style suited their song and goals, at times introducing something inherently recognizable, while at others they borrowed and combined freely. Yet, they never created discord in their compositions.

I have a pet loathing of Paul McCartney’s “Live and Let Die,” which tried to combine several different styles and only succeeded in creating confusing slop, a godawful mess of a song (and I suspect it is only through The Beatles overhyped reputation that it became as successful as it did – anyone else would have bombed out with that train wreck.) But in contrast, the song I’m featuring here routinely changes tempo, mood, and style, fluently and expressively, a river that crashes through the rocks and drifts through placid pools, only to tumble down a cascade again. It tells a tale of urban development, from wilderness to industrial giant to near ghost town; it is, in fact, about Detroit, but could represent just about any once-proud city left behind by a shifting economy (I personally thought it was about England’s fading industrial centers, a la The Full Monty – close enough.)

Mark Knopfler, the lead singer and guitarist, does not have a special voice – it’s throaty and coarse, yet he knows just how to use it. But his real strength is as a composer, and most especially his ability to rip off the most elaborate guitar riffs. The music industry is filled with people who play guitar with their spine, thrashing their heads up and down in an attempt to make Pete Townshend look low-key (I remember seeing a live band where the lead guitarist was in perpetual danger of slamming the head of his instrument against the stage – without really producing anything special from the effort.) Knopfler, in contrast, is the most minimalist guitarist I’ve ever seen, hands barely moving as his fingertips drill out complicated melodies worthy of a symphony, virtually free of the electronic effects so prevalent from electric guitar bands. One of the traits I most admired from the eighties was the ability for some bands to blend together numerous instruments, complimenting each other, without feeling the need to bury the sound in feedback and sustain; the result is a blend of subtleties, no sound taking dominance, but all of them contributing to the feel like a complicated recipe.

This particular song, however, gets most of its feel from the keyboardist, Alan Clark; Knopfler doesn’t really kick it off until late in the set. This version is live at Hammersmith Odeon in London in 1983, the same recording (with a slight tweak in mix) later issued on the Money For Nothing compilation album, and Clark brings us back in for the encore set with a slightly haunting, flutelike melody just barely heard over the audience, enormously effective in getting their attention. Throughout the song, the keyboards maintain the mood and carry us through the transitions, often delicately, always richly and with just the right amount of detail, not lost under the crash of other sounds – at least until the latter instrumental.

Credit where it’s due: much of the effect comes from quality work on the sound mixing boards, where the relative strengths of any particular instrument are carefully balanced and blended. Note how both Knopfler’s guitar and Clark’s electric piano taper off together at times, fading into the distance, but later in the song the guitar takes precedent and the keyboards only make the barest appearance – by that time, the song has evolved into a dramatic concert closer. Quite simply, this is how you do it:

Another major selling point for Dire Straits, as far as I’m concerned, is their emphasis on lyrics with more bite to them – sometimes satirical, sometimes insightful, almost always with more heft than the majority of pop songs… with the possible exception of “The Bug,” which is pretty lackluster lyrically, but carried extraordinarily well by the music. Okay, “Calling Elvis” is phoned in as well, but check out “My Parties” and “Ticket to Heaven” for their commentary on consumerism and televangelists, and “The Man’s Too Strong” for perhaps the best use of Knopfler’s voice.

Mass challenged

Juvenile Chinese mantis on azalea
The newborn Chinese mantids have begun to disperse into different locations; I have spotted them not only on the azalea bush neighboring the one they were born within, but many meters away near other flowers and on the dog fennel plants. This makes me self-conscious, because they have to cross some sizable (to them) patches of open lawn to do so, and I’m always concerned about stepping on one making the long trek. There isn’t much I could do, save making all activities in the yard painstakingly slow as I look for a little brownish reed about a centimeter in length, so I simply tell myself that these kind of hazards are faced by the species all the time – that’s why so many are born at once. Of all the hatchlings from last year, only one that I know of reached adulthood to produce an egg sac, the progenitor of these. Others might have spread to other locations, but considering that dozens had hatched out, a solitary local remnant gives some indication of a high mortality rate.

They’re still quite shy, but slightly less so now, and with patience I can slip in close to do the portraits that I like.

juvenile Chinese mantis portrait
Shots like this are very hit-or-miss – I have to lean over the bush in an awkward position to get this close, and holding steady in the narrow focus range is… well, actually not at all within my abilities – I usually just try to time my swaying to trip the shutter right as the subject weaves into focus. This is a keeper among many discards.

I went out later to try and get a semi-accurate measurement, to give a decent idea of size. Shocking as this may seem, the mantids aren’t inclined to hold perfectly still while I close a set of calipers near their heads, but the estimate is that my subject here measures perhaps slightly over a millimeter across the width of the head, certainly less than two. I’m pleased that I even captured the facets of the eyes, but it’s safe to say this is the limit of resolution for this rig (the defunct 28-105 reversed at 28mm.) Note the antenna that’s pointed towards us, going way out of focus – and this is taken at about f16. The depth-of-field is not going to get much better. In fact, this indicates that the other antenna was very close to being parallel to the focal plane (i.e, the digital sensor,) since it would have started going out of focus itself otherwise.

Now, another curiosity. While getting the images seen two posts back, a tiny flying insect wandered up the glass of the macro tank, and I took the opportunity to snag a quick frame before it flew off. Only after unloading the memory card did I realize I caught something very peculiar, something I’d never seen nor heard of before.

fairyfly, perhpas Mymar
Those ‘wings’ completely messed me up – they were barely visible in the viewfinder, certainly not in enough detail to see their bizarre nature. It took a little poking around to discover that this is a species of fairyfly, or the Mymaridae family – actually a class of wasp, but hardly one anybody has any reason to be frightened of. Near as I can tell, this is a genus Mymar, but I’m not going to put money on it. The family is one of the parasitic wasps, but unlike those found at that link; these lay their eggs within the eggs of other insects, whereupon they hatch out and burrow into the hatching larva of their hosts – not exactly sporting from our perspective. It is the arthropod equivalent of original sin, dooming the host from the moment of birth. In such a small package, too.

fairyfly scaled against mantisI realize I’m using rather disparaging terms about size, from my biased perspective, so let’s drop the diminutives and look at a scale comparison. Seen here are two images shown full-frame – this is what I captured with the camera, before cropping. They were taken at the same magnification, and we already know how big the mantis is, so this makes the fairyfly less than 0.5mm in body length, stretching all the way out to maybe 2mm with the wings and antennae – little wonder I could barely make out any details. If it weren’t for the fact that I was already watching subjects behind it, with a contrasting background, I never would have spotted it at all. I look at things like this with a certain level of awe; there’s a brain in that tiny petite head, seemingly not big enough for four or five brain cells, but it dictates exactly what kind of eggs to seek out and what to do with them, along with handling the physics of flight.

Which is an entirely different realm than birds inhabit, to say nothing of aircraft. The fluid dynamics of air, at this level, is more coherent – like water, air molecules bind and thus move together to a limited extent, and at a small scale it is almost ‘thick.’ There is the old trope of scientists saying bumblebees cannot fly, proving scientists are stupid of course – except that’s not what was said; it was said that bumblebees wings do not work in the same aerodynamic manner as birds and aircraft, which is perfectly true. Instead of using an airfoil shape to produce a downward flow from the rear (not, as a ridiculous number of sources put it, reducing air pressure on the upper surface so the wing is pushed upward by the pressure below – this fallacy of airfoils has been around way too long,) insects use the same angle-of-attack concept that allows us to ‘fly’ our hands out the window of a moving car, creating vortices of turbulent air that produce directional force. In other words, they have a highly developed method of stirring up waves, creating higher pressure in whatever direction is needed to maneuver. The downward force of a normal airfoil, highly visible in the animated gif seen on this page, is instead developed by the varying ways insect wings thrash the air, exploiting the limited cohesive effects to better advantage. The weird fanlike wings of Mymaridae, rather than just making a breeze, produce enough vortices for lifting the negligible mass of the insect’s body without needing much mass of their own, which of course lowers the energy needed to move them, or even to develop and maintain them. Efficient unto the need thereof.

But how? Part 14: Atheology

It’s funny, because there really are too few instances of exactly what this post is, and I’m not sure why – it can’t possibly be because atheists are too nice about it. But considering that the last ‘But how?‘ post was about the feeble attempts at rendering a god existent by logic, it’s time to look at the other side, which is rendering a god ridiculous by logic, otherwise known as atheology. More or less, actually – atheology is indeed a concept, but it encompasses a broader approach than what I’m tackling here. The word worked best when following the last topic, so I’m using it rather frivolously here.

There are, actually, quite a few examples of logical arguments for no god – or to be more specific, showing that the god hypothesis doesn’t work at all. We’re not merely talking agnosticism here, where the lack of proof means taking a position of uncertainty. Nor are we talking about simply poking holes in religious positions and claims, such as floods and rebirth cycles – that’s child’s play, really. We’re talking about actual logical expectations that render the concepts untenable at best, but sometimes even self-defeating. An example of that one is our first:

Omniscience and omnipotence are mutually exclusive. There’s an old saw, a question that runs simply, If god is omnipotent, can he create a rock so big he cannot lift it? It’s a basic paradox examining the failed concept of infinite anything. Yet we don’t even need that to make the premise crash, because it’s pretty simple. Omniscience means that such a being not only knows everything that is, but will be as well – all consequences of actions. No religious person argues against this at all. Yet to know everything that will happen, one must be powerless to change it. If it can be changed of course, then it is not known what any future (or past) state might be, because the change has not occurred yet. Not to mention how badly this trashes all those concepts of free will and man not being a mere programmed player in the universe. Omniscience actually makes any god itself a player in the events that must unfold. However, even a lack of these extreme properties, just settling for “really powerful” and “pretty damn smart,” doesn’t eradicate the ‘man as pawn’ scenario, since anytime man’s actions or effects can be changed at whim, they’re rendered pointless against the impulses of god’s mind. It doesn’t matter how good someone is if they’re killed off before finding salvation, or if god decides to change those rules anyway. It is the ultimate slavery, not just of freedom or will, but consequence and impact as well; wave goodbye to the meaning that people claim religion provides. The only way around this is if god is completely non-intervening – which makes humans bothering with such a being pointless as well.

Everlasting life is soul-destroying. This mostly applies to the abrahamic religions that promise eternal bliss or torment, but also gathers in buddhism and its ultimate enlightenment concept. First off, all of the experiences we have, pain and pleasure and good eats and jealousy and driving really fast, are all tied to the physical body. To even exist, they need the comparative experiences, the counterpoints – we know pain because we don’t feel it constantly, we enjoy pleasure as a special reward. Perpetuating these makes them meaningless.

Rewards and punishments only serve two purposes, however. The first is mere bluff, the promise of consequences. The second is the actual demonstration of consequences, to prevent a repeat of the behavior that elicited them. In both cases, perpetual reward or punishment is utterly pointless.

Not only that, but a perpetual existence would be the most boring thing imaginable, regardless of the state we’re experiencing at the time. People really don’t grasp the idea of forever and ever, and how it would destroy anticipation, surprise, the very idea that there is something else to experience. We’re driven, right now, to accomplish certain things because we know we won’t always have the chance to – life is finite. We seek to improve our lives because improvement is always possible. Every religious person, no matter how devout, recognizes this fundamentally (yes, that’s a pun, I don’t write these blithely you know) – everyone has the same drives towards society and interactions regardless of their supposed belief in what comes afterward. Religious folk should be the most mellow on earth, frozen in their actions and desires once they know they’re guaranteed an ultimate reward transcending anything life has to offer. I’ll just leave that gigglefest hanging out there…

We must also examine how enormously pointless it would be to create a plane of existence to populate for a brief period of time as lead-in to an unchanging, perpetual state. This accomplishes… what, exactly? And is there some value to an infinitely expanding sphere of really happy souls, never changing, never going anyplace? The immediate answer from religious folk is that we cannot fathom what the real plan is, but this is fatuous handwaving – we’ve supposedly just been told this is the state of affairs, and it’s exactly what’s being addressed here; imagining that there’s something else that renders this different somehow is no more valid than imagining that it’s all horseshit (the latter is far more supported by the facts, actually.)

Not to mention that every last vestige of the whole idea, pleasure and pain and the fear of death and so on, all fit precisely (and without any special circumstances or unknown plans whatsoever) into a basically physical, evolved life form. There are no fancy scenarios that have to be created to explain why we have a sex drive if sex is a sin, and why shellfish are tasty and nutritious if we’re not supposed to eat them.

Natural laws. It’s almost stunning what some very basic physical principles can do. Everything that we do, everything that we see, experience, and even predict, boils down to, believe it or not, four simple physical forces. They’re tied into everything, so well in fact that we can predict the Higgs Boson and gravity waves. Pause for a second; we have predicted finding the after-effects of an event 13.8 billion years old. And the only reason we could actually do this is if all of it, from Day One, ran like clockwork.

Even in everyday life, we depend on this. We could not drive a car or cook a pizza if these were not incredibly, precisely dependable. We could never have built the computers we’re using now, and especially not the GPS unit that takes us to our destinations. We can map dark matter because we know what it takes to bend light, packets of energy that have traveled trillions of kilometers across the universe – these forces extend out as far as we can detect, which is a volume of space that defies any comparative analogy. And there is no penalty for breaking the laws of physics, because we cannot actually do so, nor have we ever seen it happen in the slightest. This leaves almost no place for a god to be acting.

One of the few exceptions to this, the curious traits of quantum mechanics, is what some have claimed as evidence of an acting god. There are many problems with this, including the bare fact that the odd effects of QM don’t propagate upwards all the way to the molecular level, that they remain predictable on large scales, and that random events do not translate to ‘intention’ in any useful way. This last one can be applied to just about any ‘god of the gaps’ claim made against anything that science still finds mysterious, since any property can be claimed for these mysteries – it’s evidence of extra-dimensional aliens, or suggests that we’re in a simulation – but without something testable, it remains a teapot in space.

This ties in with:

Conservation of energy. Within those four forces sits a very simple effect: that energy always acts to distribute itself evenly among all matter. In order to provide the energy that moves our vehicles along, we have to rob it from somewhere else with a higher potential, eventually leading all the way back to the sun – this is the Second Law of Thermodynamics that ignorant religious folk like to claim we don’t understand (or doesn’t even exist.) Any concentration of energy will dissipate among all surrounding matter unless held in check by one of the four forces. The burner on the stove heats the pan, which in turn heats the contents, solely because of this process.

Any creation event, any miracle, any alteration of this universe-wide interaction, requires the input of energy, which is then going to dissipate – a net gain of the energy in the universe, unless it is transferred from someplace else. Either way, there are ripple effects from these energy changes, atoms having to cope with a sudden influx, inertia being shed abruptly – depending on the size of the miracle, anything from a sudden spot of intense heat to a shockwave that could destroy planets.

The argument, of course, is that god will prevent all of the negative effects, and can not only create energy at will, he can vanish all of the after-effects. The evidence for this fails to exist, however, and Superman is impervious to bullets because he comes from Krypton – there’s no shortage of stupendous claims, but without either evidence nor value, we have nothing more than stories; excuses do not gain the value of a working theory solely through wanting them to be true. Even the scriptural accounts themselves do not provide any useful reasoning; consider that, in joshua 10, the sun and moon are halted in the sky (not, curiously enough, that the rotation of the Earth was halted – apparently god was not on board with the whole orbital physics thing), a manifestation of energy and inertia physics of a magnitude that could turn the planet into molten slag. Every molecule on and of the Earth had to be stopped in its path without any ill effect – and started again afterward, all so joshua had time to finish slaying his enemies. Because it was much more useful than god doing so himself. And don’t ask who created the enemies…

Curiously, while scientists, and merely the really observant, have never seen the slightest indication of these miraculous violations, the devout supposedly see them all the time, so the argument that god is trying to keep it hidden doesn’t pass muster. Even if a god was deciding to be selective in who witnessed the magic, wouldn’t it make more sense to demonstrate it in front of those who don’t believe?

Moreover, one is also obligated to explain why any god would establish physical laws extending throughout the vast reaches of the visible universe, only to thwart them by producing sporadic miracles – and then attempt to cover these up again.

We are physically-dependent beings. Our whole lives revolve around detecting physical properties, seeking cause-and-effect, observing patterns, and predicting consequences – and this works really, really well, responsible for every comfort, every convenience, every function of our lives from beginning to end. Even our minds, supposedly designed this way, strive for proofs, evidence, and physical manifestations of anything – these traits are related throughout every example of scripture that I’ve come across. By our very nature, we remain skeptical of stories, and realms that do not provide any form of personal experience. The religious folk that deny this, claiming we freely accept heaven and otherworldly planes of existence, are conveniently forgetting that religious artifacts, manifestations of miracles, and even prayer are all attempts to bolster belief with physical evidence, and it occurs everywhere.

The main take on this, if we accept the religious premise, is that we are designed to doubt the very existence of a creator – which makes everything about humankind an enormous game of some nature. Hyperpotent beings should have no problems with not just communicating the ‘true’ nature of existence, but even implanting it directly in our minds so doubt couldn’t even arise – yet this obviously didn’t happen.

The argument, long ago tackled, is that this is the ol’ free will thingy, permitting mankind to choose a path that leads to salvation or torment, enlightenment or repetition, advancement or retardation. Despite the long history of this claim, few ever seem to realize that it does nothing to eradicate the underlying pointlessness. Why have mankind play any game at all? Why, indeed, have mankind, period?

This leads to:

The remarkable self-absorption of both man and god. We know the universe is vast. Even the distances encompassed within our little solar system are staggering. Yet the creator of this panoply of physics seems inordinately concerned with the antics of, really, a tiny percentage of living matter in the paper-thin skin of atmosphere on just one tiny body amongst it all; the entire Earth takes up not 0.03 percent of our solar system’s mass, 99.8 of which is the sun itself – which is one of an estimated 100 billion in the Milky Way galaxy, itself one of an estimated 100-200 billion galaxies in the known universe. And not just concerned, but constantly involved (depending on which religion you choose) and neurotically dependent on the opinions thereof – apparently being superpowerful, able to create at whim, doesn’t eradicate the emotional dependency on an infinitesimal manifestation of living matter and their ridiculous antics.

Moreover, despite knowing all of this, religious folk continually insist that our actions are not only important, but part of a grand plan – we are the humble servants (exact words) of this hyperpotent being. Again, no one knows what this plan is, but we’re integral to it. And somehow, very few ever get to the point of wondering what game this could possibly be, because there’s nothing we could provide that any god couldn’t achieve without us.

Gods are incredibly petty. And this goes for even our own self-absorbed human perspective. In nearly every account given the world over, gods are surprisingly similar to fascist dictators, demonstrating all of the worst examples of the corruption of great power. While one might expect enormously potent beings to be threatened by nothing, what we see instead are myriad examples of abuse, coercion, jealousy, revenge, petulance, and even in the mildest of cases, ego and demands of offerings and sacrifice. All by themselves these are more than a little disturbing, but when considered against the claims that we are intended creations of these personalities, it becomes ludicrous. Only the mentally unbalanced becomes so upset over something they purposefully made to be exactly this way.

Further, these are all human traits, and again, we have perfectly adequate reasons why these exist and how they came about. No supernatural being has any use for emotions of any kind, since emotions are stimulants of survival behavior. Our anthropocentric tendencies insist that we can relate best to humans, and thus human analogs in gods, but the chances of an extra-dimensional being possessing identical emotions are not only infinitesimal, they could serve no function whatsoever. Even if we believe that any creative force actually possesses a personality, it is remarkably unlikely to be anything we would recognize, much less relate to.

Religion is self-affirming. While the majority of the world’s religions expend far more effort into delineating the number of things mankind should not be doing over the positive actions it should (a peculiar form of guidance and planning to be sure,) very few religious people ever find themselves on their god’s bad side, when by all rights this unfortunate state should be held by the majority of the world’s population. The devout not only consider their faith a mark of status and indeed elitism, most are adherents only of the religion they were raised within, and remain largely unfamiliar with the other manifestations of faith they pronounce their superiority of. We have to recognize that religion is serving more as emotional affirmation than any kind of behavioral guide, making it less effective than speed limits.

We cannot ignore the fact that, in service to this indulgence, some of the largest slaughters and greatest inhumanities of our species’ history have been committed, demonstrating that even if any supernatural being existed, a) their influence is remarkably weak, b) they are not the least involved in beneficence and ‘caring,’ or c) their rules for humans just aren’t working. In a few decades in the US, we managed to almost completely overturn racism, certainly eradicating the openness with which it was once practiced – but a few thousand years of god’s word hasn’t been enough to instill peace, or even humility, much less an agreement on which religion is proper. Segue to:

There is no universal similarity in the world’s religions. While we are often told that scripture and religious revelation are god’s communications to its creation, there is such a huge variety of gods related throughout the world as to render this ridiculous. Somehow we are to believe that most of the world’s populations, throughout thousands of years of history, have pursued false idols to a huge degree, but only right here, right now, the church that we attend got it exactly right. Of course.

Religious folk make a great deal out of whatever common elements they can find, such as the number of cultures with flood myths, but we should expect common elements among many cultures, especially of things that occur worldwide. No attention is paid to the differences, however, which outnumber the similarities by a hundred to one, even more when we discount any examples that might have come from cultural crossovers and absorptions. Even further, claiming that any culture at all has strayed from god’s word means an inherent recognition that religion can be entirely made up – if all those cultures aren’t following the real god, who the hell are they following? And if they’re, as proponents of a sensus divinitatis blurt out, merely getting an impression of supernatural influence without accurate details, who gets to pronounce themselves correct in such circumstances?

No religion has ever gotten the details correct. The shape and age of the Earth, the true nature of the sun and the stars, the presence of microbes and how to avoid them, what lightning is, the methods of building a strong community, the hazards of believing promises from leaders… all the kinds of information that one would not only want from divine guidance, they would have been excellent evidence in support of such. Instead, what we actually have are myriad different, conflicting, and truly spectacular creation stories, completely inaccurate depictions of the sky and bodies therein, and total indifference to most of the pitfalls humans could possibly face. Again, religious folk struggle to interpret vague passages within scripture as supporting dinosaurs or an old Earth, but no devotee ever posited these possibilities at all, much less followed them faithfully, until observations rendered them inescapably correct – it’s not really useful information if we had to find it on our own before recognizing it within scripture.

Additionally, the inaccuracies within scripture produce their own problems: either the gods imparted false information to us, or the scribes somehow got these details way wrong. In either case, the only thing it tells us is to stop paying attention to scripture. The third possibility, considered by far too many people, is that scripture is right and everything that we have observed, tested, predicted, and use every day is actually wrong. Treating this ludicrous and desperate proposal with an ounce of seriousness just for giggles, this means that nothing that we do or observe is trustworthy – including what we read from scripture. That’s only a recipe for a rubber room.

No religion has produced evidence, prediction, or function beyond the merely emotional. While absolutely brimming with promises, properties, and guidance, no religion has managed to achieve even a simple improvement in our lives beyond the personal; the most theocratic states are among those with the lowest standards of living and the most oppression, falling in with the dictatorships. In US prisons at least, the percentage of religious inmates is significantly higher than the general population, instead of far lower as one would reasonably expect. Religious miracles are always either unsubstantiated folklore or vague examples easily explained by other means. Scriptural miraculous events have left no traces to be found, despite their claimed worldwide impact. Studies on the value of prayer turn up no effect except bias. Predicted events from scripture have repeatedly failed to manifest. No buddhist ever displays stigmata; no muslim ever drops dead from a shaman’s curse. In short, religion is a cultural artifact, manifested nowhere else, in no other way. We cannot use it to predict reactions, prepare for future events, or even form a rough guideline of the behavior of the adherents.

As numerous science-fiction stories have delved into, if we attempted to explain the function and value of religion to an alien species, we wouldn’t get anywhere – we can’t even do this for ourselves without blind selectivity. The only reason we accept any religion at all is because we’re hopelessly influenced by what others think; religion is spread by cultural pressure. Any comparison of the world’s various faiths for accuracy or explanatory values comes up poorly – adherents can find plenty wrong with every religion but their own, while excusing the exact same kinds of illogical and improbable properties of their own that they claim makes all other faiths corrupt. No religious culture has jumped ahead of all others in any standard one cares to name, while cultures with low religiosity show much higher standards of living, a correlation for which no one has yet managed to find another explanation.

Now, let’s be fair. I said in the previous ‘But how?’ post that logic isn’t all it’s cracked up to be: logic is only the extrapolation of dependable experience, or accepted traits, into rules or predictions, but if the experience is wrong or the traits inadequately understood, logic isn’t sufficient to render an accurate answer. Therefore, a logical argument that no gods exist is worthless, right?

Well, that depends – especially since that question above is a logical posit in itself ;-). First off, most of these are established by the very properties that religious folk claim, and are thus self-defeating. If the details are wrong, well, so is the religion that relies on them.

However, the real test of any logical argument is the evidence that it manifests. If we understand this property and that reaction, then we should expect to see so-and-so when combined – if the result is as predicted, we know that we understand the properties enough to produce something with functionality. There are numerous properties that we can expect to see from supernatural beings (despite the attempt to hide them away from our perceptions) and plenty of opportunities for religion to show worth. Yet positive religious properties are scarce, and predictions are even scarcer; we have more claims for why these don’t exist than actual examples that they do. “It’s all a plan we don’t know,” and “god works in mysterious ways” and “god is present in the areas science hasn’t found answers for” and “god made it all look like he didn’t exist” and “the long list of evidence disproving scripture is a test” – none of these are found anywhere in scripture. But while there is no such thing as proving a negative, we can show that the expected results from any positive claim do not manifest, or are logically inconsistent.

Any and all excuses for a lack of positive evidence can, and should, immediately be dismissed; the point should never be to justify belief despite a void of proof, but to demonstrate the positive, beneficial aspects of any hypothesis. It’s not enough to know a bunch of people with faith, and the fact that ‘faith’ is such a vague, contextual term shows that everyone knows it’s a void – especially when it can be applied with equal facility to every other sect that must be false. Value derives from something that works without faith, without excuses, without someone needing to believe in its existence. We can feel much more comfortable calling something ‘truth’ if it works the same for everyone, regardless of their cultural upbringing or predilection not to believe it. Vaccinations work for buddhists, hindus, rastafarians, christians, muslims, and atheists – despite the fact that their development required utilizing a theory that some of those faiths deny even exists. That’s value; that’s functionality.

There is a common concept, used not just in courts but throughout science as well, called the ‘preponderance of evidence.’ While there may be many different ways that each item of evidence can have come about, if just one scenario can satisfy all of them, probability favors this as the correct one – especially if other explanations involve highly improbable events, coincidences, or inexplicable behavior. So while countless arguments may be forwarded in response to the list above, I’d be very interested to see if anyone manages to find just one that covers them all, to see if it’s any better than the one that already exists: that there are no gods.

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