I found this quote over at Andrew Sullivan’s blog. It’s very similar to something I wrote a short while ago.

“… it is crucial that people who do not have a sky god and don’t have a set of supernatural beliefs assert their belief in moral values and in love and in the transcendence that they might experience in landscape or art or music or sculpture or whatever. Since they do not believe in an afterlife, it makes them give more valence to life itself. The little spark that we do have becomes all the more valuable when you can’t be trading off any moments for eternity,” - Ian McEwen, in The New Republic.

Salon posted an interview today with Georgetown theologian John Haught about his response to the New Atheism as embodied by Christopher Hitchens, Richard Dawkins, and others. It’s worth reading insofar as it reveals that those on the “spiritual” side of things really don’t understand atheism in a very fundamental way, just as atheists don’t really understand religion and the need for god. And I should know — I’m an atheist. The need for faith is something I can understand on an intellectual level, but not on an emotional one.

Here’s a quote:

But why can’t you have hope if you don’t believe in God?

You can have hope. But the question is, can you justify the hope? I don’t have any objection to the idea that atheists can be good and morally upright people. But we need a worldview that is capable of justifying the confidence that we place in our minds, in truth, in goodness, in beauty. I argue that an atheistic worldview is not capable of justifying that confidence. Some sort of theological framework can justify our trust in meaning, in goodness, in reason.

By referring to hope, what Haught really means is hope for life after death, hope that there’s something more than the natural world. He believes that atheism is a state of nihilism and negativity, that without hope for a future after death, life itself is without meaning.

But for me, it’s the finite span of life — the blink of an eye and you’re gone reality we all face — that gives me hope. It’s the great fortune to have experienced all this, to have fathered two daughters, enjoyed art and music, that gives me hope and meaning. The luck of it all! If the wrong sperm fertilized the wrong egg at the wrong moment, none of us would be here. To have come as far as we all have is truly remarkable.

Everything around us is dependent on a chain of stunning coincidences going all the way back to the Big Bang. Is that so terrible? The awesomeness of an infinite Universe, propelled along by accidents is far more humbling to me than the idea of a vengeful creator who forced his only son to suffer so that the rest of us could absolve ourselves of our mistakes. I don’t begrudge other people their need to believe in the myth, that it’s the only thing that keeps them going, but why does it trouble them so much that there are people who cannot bring themselves to pretend to be religious? And why do they have to project despair on us, as if our lives are meaningless without what George Carlin referred to as a “Magic Man in the Sky” to guide our way from birth to death?

As a boy, I never really believed in God, despite going to church, or the magnetic evangelical influence of certain friends and family. When I looked into my dying father’s eyes and saw a man broken by sickness and filled with fear of death, I didn’t glimpse God so much as the inevitable end we all someday face alone. The realization that there’s nothing more than life brought me a peace I’d never been able to have with religion — an acceptance that someday I will die. And it’s not all bad — it’s just the way things are.

When my aunt visited me last year and was startled by how much I reminded her of my father, it was clear to me that some part of my father was in me. That he continued after death, and when I look at my daugthers and see so much of myself in them, and so much of my mother and my wife, and the grandfather they will never meet, I know that this is how we reach everlasting life. By passing our traits down through our children — through genes and nurturing love.

And so I don’t fear death. Because although my own consciousness will end, never again to return, there will be bits of me alive in my children. And that is what gives me hope. That they will live long lives and live to see themselves and the people they love in their own children and carry on the wonderous chain of life.

My old iPod crapped out about two months ago, and in that time I’ve been pretty much without a regular and reliable source of music. Tina just made bank on a recent project, and kindly bought me a new iPod. All I have to say is that life is so much better with your complete record collection at your fingertips.

I’m currently about halfway through the first chapter of my new collaboration with Jake, “Pax Americana.” I have to say, it’s great to be working on a comic book project that comes from the same place as my literary fiction. The characters are revealing themselves in a way that I haven’t let comic book characters reveal themselves before. “Alberic Heresies” serviced a detailed plot, but “Pax Americana” is strictly about the charcters. It’s a lot looser and feels more natural.

Well, either that, or I’m just getting lazy.

The public beta of Halo 3 releases in a couple of weeks, and I can just feel myself starting to boil over with anticipation. Halo, as you may know from other posts on the subject, is my religion. Master Chief, aka Spartan John 117, is the only messiah I will ever know. There’s only two commercial properties in existance today where I am an inapologetic fan boy — Doctor Who and Halo. I imagine I will be completely unproductive during this three-week period, so I’ve got to get the first chapter of the comic done pronto, or Jake will take me as a slacker.

I doubt any references to Halo as a kind of religious pilgrimage will not be accepted.

I’m currently finishing up the last leg of “Accelerando” by Charles Stross, a post-cyberpunk hard science fiction novel that’s full of absolutely insane ideas, but lacks the human element I desire from such books. The plot is mostly incomprehensible, commenting on the ramifications of post-human existance and the forthcoming singularity, but I’m afraid I’m on the opposite side of the issue from Stross (at least, I think I am). Granted, I’m not finished with it, but it lacks a lot of focus, and I don’t see it tying itself up very nicely by the end. I’d mildly recommend it, with the caveat that it’s more interested in ideas than characters or story. It’s definitely in the Neil Stephenson/Thomas Pynchon school.

Season three of Battlestar Galactica proves that the writers aren’t capable of telling a long story well — that 20 episodes is way too much for them, and 13 (which they’re going back to next year) is a much more manageable number. The finale has been far superior to most of the season. In fact, I think you could take the New Caprica storyline from the first half, include the three or four episodes following that which dealt with the fallout from New Caprica and combine them with the finale to make a reasonably good season. Most of the middle — including the absolutely dreadful “Eye of Jupiter” two-parter that was essentially a rehash of the Kobol storyline from Season one and Season two — could be easily amputated.

Unlike others out there in the blogosphere, I actually like what’s been done with Lee Adama (about time if you ask me — he hasn’t been interesting since he took command of the Pegasus in season two), and I’m excited about the revelation of the final five Cylons. In particular, I was very surprised by the identities of at least one of these people — it’s a gutsy move, but I think it sends a clear signal that we’re probably heading into the home stretch. I hope the fact that Galactica is clearly ending its run next January will lead to a continued improvement in overall story quality. I’d hate to continue watching the show flail around as it heads towards an inevitable cancellation, much as my once-beloved Farscape did in its dreadful fourth year.

I downloaded the new Modest Mouse record, “We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank” from iTunes this morning. I haven’t heard it all, but I’m enjoying it immensely so far. “Dashboard” stands up there with the singles from the last record. Although I do think it suffers from overproduction, it still contains enough of what “Modest Mouse” is about to overlook the commercial overtones. It’s interesting to note what an influence new guitarist Johnny Marr (The Smiths, Electronic, etc., etc.) is on the record. His guitar style is very distinctive, and I think it’s safe to say that it blends nicely with the band. It’s weird that an alternative rock guitar legend has joined a perrenial indie favorite two whole generations removed from his glory days, but it works. Kudos to Modest Mouse and Marr for taking a big chance.

Tina is out attending a meeting of the Craft Mutiny, and I am home alone with our girls. Dora is on the television, and the Arcade Fire’s “Neon Bible” is playing on the stereo. Moments ago, Anya and I danced around to “Keep the Car Running.” She knows it so well that although she can’t sing the words, she goes “Ohhh Ohhhh” in all the right places.

I can’t describe how much I love “Neon Bible.” Arcade Fire means more to me than any other band, and this follow-up may not have the impact on my life that “Funeral” did, but it’s still remarkable. Where “Funeral” centered around loss, grief and personal redemption, “Neon Bible” is about life in post-9/11 America. A lot of bands have taken on this topic (see: Q and Not U, Different Damage; Green Day, American Idiot), but none have really covered the sense of grim despair many of us feel when we turn on the news. The feeling of wanting to run, but not having anywhere to go.

Tina and I luckily got tickets to the band’s upcoming show at DAR in DC. Not quite as intimate as the 9:30 Club, where we saw them just after learning that we were having twins, but great just the same.

Last week, I was home alone with the girls. While I was in the kitchen cooking, Rachel fell down and started to cry. Before I could move to help her, Anya was already by her side, holding her face to her chest, telling her it was okay. It was such an amazing act of compasion. A few minutes later, Anya got Rachel to smile, and I snapped this picture with my camera phone:

It startles me every day just how capable Rachel and Anya are of acts of tremendous love and kindness. They’re only about a year and a half old, and yet they have learned to comfort each other and to comfort us. I’m watching the bond between them grow every day — the twin “bond” people talk about isn’t supernatural, just a strong connection between two people who have never known a time apart from their sister. We were in Target over the weekend, and I took Anya on one cart to pick up half of our supply list, and Tina took Rachel on another car to get the other half.

All during our time away from the rest of the family, Anya kept saying: “Mama, Sissy, Mama, Rachi?” over and over again, obviously puzzled why her mother and sister were away from us. And Tina reported when we reunited that all Rachel said was: “Daddy, Anya?”

As I sit here apart from Tina and the girls, I feel a similar absence. I miss them and look forward to seeing them again in a few short hours. But the wait, the delay, is becoming unbearable.

Callum Robbins, the son of J. Robbins (Jawbox, Burning Airlines, Channels) needs your help. He’s suffering from a rare disease that may kill him before his second birthday.

J., as many of you know, works as an indie recording engineer. Obviously, he doesn’t have the health insurance necessary to pay for his son’s expensive treatments. Tina and I have donated what we can, and we urge you to do the same.

Desoto Records has set up a page with more information on how you can help. You can click here to view it.

J. has given so much through his music and his support of young bands. Now is the time for his fans to give back to him and his family.

I woke up this morning thinking about the expression, “He’d give you the shirt off his back.” Unless you’re talking about an expensive shirt, or unless the gift of said shirt occurs in the middle of a blizzard, then it’s really not much of a gesture.

Thinking more about it, though, I suppose in the 19th Century or whenever the expression emerged that a shirt was a valuable thing. How many articles of clothing did an average person have? Probably not a lot. It wasn’t as if it was possible to buy a shirt for $9.99 at the local Walmart.

I recently deleted a post regarding my experiences at the Small Press Expo on Saturday. In it, I described an unsuccessful attempt to chat with an old acquaintance and Restaurant Fuel contributor, who I mistakenly believed was actively ignoring me.

This was not the case. As he explained in a personal email, he simply did not remember what I looked like, and I was mistaken that he did.

What I wrote was wrong, uncalled for, and quite frankly, unprofessional. I let my own disappointment and depression about the failure of my comic book at SPX effect how I interpreted things. I apologized to him personally, but I would also like to publically say that I am sorry, and that my account of our non-meeting was the result of a misunderstanding.

So, I met John Kerry the other day. Working in a public affairs office in Washington, D.C., I’ve encountered many famous and “important” people through the years, but most of them have been Republicans. It was nice meeting someone I’ve voted for, and actually talking to Kerry in person was completely and utterly surreal. He was incredibly nice and personable, and I got the strong sense of an individual who is decent and sincere, something that doesn’t convey quite so well on television. Although I was an avid Dean supporter, I have to say that John Kerry would have made a great president. He could have been the next FDR — and from me that’s a huge compliment, as Roosevelt is my favorite President.

I really, really liked John Kerry. And some of my Republican co-workers confessed that they liked him, too. Even admitted that had they met him back in 2004, they might have voted for him. I’d go with Gore in 2008, if he runs, but given a choice between Kerry, Hillary Clinton, Mark Warner and John Edwards, I’d have to go with Kerry. Like Gore, the guy needs a second chance. And his positions have gotten a lot clearer in recent months — something he should have also done back in 2004.

I’ve just gone through a bit of minor online gaming drama. The group I founded back in 2003 is essentially no more — a lot of my friends have moved on to form a new World of Warcraft guild. But there’s still a few of us left, and it looks like we’re going to start fresh with a new XBOX Live group. If you own a 360 and are interested in playing with a bunch of adults with real lives — people who years ago were hardcore gamers, but now play a couple of times a week — send me an email. I’ll let you know what my gamertag is.

On another note, my new Restaurant Fuel template is almost complete. Expect a new site look in about a week or so.