Sleeping Compartment Redux, 12.13.13

What to my wondering eyes should appear but sheets and blankets hidden on the top bunk of my second stay in an Amtrak sleeping compartment. Last time I used my coat to stay warm. Tonight I get a sheet and a blanket. To add to my delight, I learned how to raise the top bunk so I quit bonking my head. And to top off my list of worldly pleasures, I've discovered there's a matress that fits on the lower bunk. Things just keep getting better and better.

It's 3:30 in the afternoon and I'm still on the train, currently stopped in Grand Junction, Colorado for fresh air; some folks use these 20 minutes as opportunity to smoke.

I'm also using this 32 hour confinement to feed my yen for modern art. Hard when the train wobbles. But then, maybe that adds to the effect.

Making Peace With The Problem of Evil, 12.13.13

I woke up in my Denver motel today and watched TV while eating my complimentary breakfast. News of devastating weather, random traffic accidents (why they feel compelled to show clips of people getting maimed or killed by out of control motorists is beyond me), and fatal stabbings after some damn football game last night in Denver put me in a surly frame of mind. Skip this post if you want more photos of cool art. They'll come later. Today (at 8:30 in the AM) I wax philosophic as I enjoy Colorado scenery during my 32 hour trip to more museums in Sacramento (then stops in San Francisco, Portland, and beyond).

The problem of evil is nicely summarized by this bumper sticker, "God is love. God is powerful. Evil exists. Pick two."

New atheists would have us believe that the problem of evil is the nail in the coffin to theism. And to be honest, Christian, not to mention Jewish, apologists have grappled with this issue for millennia. Having read a good number of those writers, and having written about this subject myself as an amature theologian (my master's thesis was on this topic), I sympathize with attempts to untangle this theological conundrum.

To be frank, I do not believe an answer exists. I have yet to discover a theodicy that works. Apologetic arguments run from the ridiculous to the sublime but not one that I know of makes the problem go away.

Since I'm not willing to become an atheist I must somehow live with this nagging bumper sticker. Here is how I am making peace with the problem of evil.

My #1 observation about the problem of evil is that it's not as problematic as detractors of faith in a providential God would have us believe. The problem of evil has existed for as long as benevolent monotheism and yet the number of believers continues to grow. Believing Jews are exemplar in this regard. They live with a holocaust. Either believers are deluded, irrational, and in denial, or the problem isn't quite the death knell to faith unbelievers claim. If that bumper sticker was a slam dunk we'd all become atheists. And since believers continue to believe there must be something at work which propels faith beyond the rational quandary posed by that bumper sticker.

My #2 observation about the problem of evil is the relativity of evil.

Natural disasters. Stepping in a mud puddle is irritating but not evil. Being splashed with mud by a passing motorist, if intentional, is somewhat evil. A flood that destroys one's house and all of one's possessions is evil, and a tsunami resulting in loss of life is a horrendous evil. The same goes for fires, earthquakes, volcanoes, hurricanes, and meteor showers.

Medical disasters. A paper cut, mild headache, and sunburn are irritations but not evil. Debilitating migraines, paraylysis, and chronic pain are evil. Death of a child, random accidents, and unredeeming suffering (suffering that offers no possible benefit to the sufferer) are horrendous evils.

Social disasters. Lying about Santa Claus, playing harmless practical jokes, and cutting in line may be inadvisable but are not evil. Gossip, slander, cruelty are evil. Abuse, murder, and genocide are horrendous evils.

Religious disasters.  Boring sermons, monotonous traditions, and fattening pot lucks are repellant but not evil. Judgmentalism, shaming, pressure tactics, and guilt mongering are evil. Holy wars, witch trials, inquisitions, and baptizing at knife point are horrendous evils.

Animal disasters. A scratch from a playful kitty hurts but isn't evil. A cat who toys with a mouse before eating it is (for the mouse) evil. A parasite that lives off its host by slowly digesting it from the inside out is more than gross. It is evil. And what of the poor Bambi burned alive in a wild fire? Google animal suffering if you dare.

Acknowledging the relativity of evil belies our innate sense of justice which, Christians argue, is a mark of imago dei. Our unavoidable habit of evaluating levels of evil is a strange habit indeed if there are no moral absolutes.

My #3 observation about the problem of evil is that without this problem we all become nihilists. If nature and history are determined by genetics, chance, probability, or randomness we have no sound rationale to fight evil. Might makes right, the fittest survive, and choosing one's purpose is arbitrary. Benevolent atheists can choose to become philanthropic and humanitarian but who is to say a malevolent atheist (Mao, Pol Pot, Lenin) has chosen poorly?

My #4 observation about the problem of evil is that it keeps us honest. It is for this reason I love Ecclesiastes and why I balk at popular evangelical reinterpretations which attempt to defang Qohelet's doubts. Every Christian can site examples of answered prayers, special providences, and miraculous deliverances. Those are the hits. What few evangelicals acknowledge (other than Qohelet) are the misses--the unanswered prayers, the bizarre and pointless acts of depravity, and the random acts of violence, stupidity, devastation, and oppression. It's a sure bet neither I or Qohelet are going to be invited to any easy breezy televangelist show soon.

My #5 and final (for now) observation about the problem of evil is its role in a life of faith. It takes no faith to believe 2+2=4. That fact is self evident. The goodness and power of God are not self evident when we watch TV news. And since faith is germaine to all human endeavor, whether doing scientific research, choosing a school or major or spouse, or riding a train in Colorado, it stands to reason that our connection to the ineffable, the unseen, the transcendent also requires faith. In my moments of weak faith, and I have plenty, I'm haunted by Jesus' question, "When I come back will I find anyone with faith"? Curiously he did not say love. The problem of evil fuels my faith.

Okay, enough of this. Back to sight seeing in the beautiful Colorado Rockies.

Denver Art Museum, 12.12.13

After arriving in Denver this morning at 8:30 I sat in the train station as usual and pulled up Google Maps to see how far my motel was from my current location. It was less than 2 miles and the weather was glorious so I hoofed it.  My duffle bag keeps getting heavier with stuff but I needed the exercise after being cooped up for 18 hours.

Once checked in I showered, changed clothes, and got directions from the motel clerk about bus travel. Two dollars and twenty five cents later I'm in downtown Denver with a whole day to kill. I bought a muffin, visited a book store (forced myself to stop adding weight to my luggage although I found some dandy items now duly recorded in my Evernote list of "books to get some day"), and wound my way to the Denver Art Museum.

It astonishes me that throngs aren't lined up to ogle these works of brilliance. There's a football game in town tonight, and jazz clubs, restaurants, businesses to run, and buses to catch. I can't expect everyone to gasp at the things that make me gasp.

Here are some treasures, top to bottom.

Item 1. Graphite on 8' × 10' paper. Breath taking detail all with a pencil!

Item 2. Photo realism paintings 1' × 1' of grass. A dozen paintings of grass!

Item 3. Buddhist sand painting, covered least any one sneeze near it.

Item 4. Roy Liechtenstein of a violin.

Item 5. Bouguereau.  Stunning.

Sketches, 12.12.13

Malcolm Gladwell argues convincingly that researchers have determined it takes 10,000 hours of practice for a person to become proficient in their chosen field. I'm too tired to do the math but I think this means I better live to be 100 if I wanna become a museum or gallery artist.

Life in a Railroad Sleeping Compartment, 12.12.13

When the guy in the compartment across the hall from me first saw his living quarters he said, "It looked bigger on the web site."

I, however, was not discouraged by the size of the sleeping room. Having pulled two all nighters in sit up coach, my experience resembling that of a caged Tasmanian Devil, I saw this compartment as positively palatial.

It's now five AM and my views have changed. The motel I stayed in two nights ago gave me a king size bed which felt like the Ponderosa, like the Louisiana Purchase, like Einstein's infinite universe. After six hours in this box I feel like Jaffar trapped in a genie's bottle.

On the bright side the ride last night was so turbulent (is that the right word for motion on a train?), I felt secure,  swaddled in cushions and steel and glass. The train was so wobbly, so rocky, so frought with centrifugal forces that I kept muttering, "Look up, your derailment draweth neigh." I took consolation that my coffin would be sleek and cherried out with chrome and heavy curtains.

My fear of crashing is not too far fetched. While in New York city two weeks ago a subway conductor fell asleep at the wheel and as the train reached speeds of 82 miles per hour it did not negotiate a curve and derailed with devastating results. As I was jostled and shaken last night worrisome train noises wormed their way into my brain: clattering wheels, creaking compartments, loud chugging motors, high pitched whines. Oh wait, the whining was me.

To the credit of the designers of these tiny sleeping rooms, they've utilized every space wisely and put shelves, movable beds, hidden coat racks, and tiny trash baskets in unusual places, although if the trash includes more than a bottle cap I'll need to call room service which will be problematic; there is no room service.

I am certain these designers played with Transformers as kids. They've made this place a giant toy. Flip this, push that, release that nob, twist that gadget and voila! You can now sleep in a thing that's been flipped, pushed, released, and twisted. Performing these actions, however, requires the litheness and flexibility of a contortionist. One must grab a cushion with their left hand, press down on a peddle with their right foot, and pull out the seat with their right hand all while balancing on their left foot in a moving train. And that's just to find the trash can.

To make the bed one must open the sliding door, put their rump in the hallway, bend at the waist, move the trash can, and play Twister with an octopus. Providing one doesn't lose any fingers with crashing heavy metal objects one is now ready to read before going to bed.

By propping up one arm with the two pillows Amtrak provides, by leaning the other arm on the extra pillow the passenger must provide, and by angling one's torso just right, one can position their paperback book in a dribble of light particles with just enough lumens for cats, bats, or Navy Seals with night vision glasses.

Amtrak has a marketing quandary. On one hand they entice guests with promises of beautiful scenery, gorgeous sun rises and sun sets, and purple mountain majesty. On the other hand they offer sleeping rooms which, once arranged, provide nothing ouside worth viewing but pitch blackness. I thought I saw Polaris but that could have been a distant Arby's sign.

It'll be breakfast soon. I have a hard time tracking time zones so I'm not sure if breakfast will be served 7 AM Central time, Eastern time, or Amtrak time. When I came back from dinner last night I went to my room number five, slid open the door, and there was some guy in his underwear fiddling with my seat cushions. Turns out I went to the wrong room. There are two rooms numbered five. I apologized and continued my wobbly walk to the next car.

Interestingly, the car I am in is the last of the lot. No caboose, just receeding tracks out the back window. To move from car to car one walks up to a steel door with window and big black button that says, "Push." Once pushed the door whooshes open like in Star Trek, although in Star Trek the door whooshes with ease, with a flawless gliding motion which oozes with techy confidence. On this train when one hits the "Push" button one hears a rattling,  grating noise like sand in a fishing reel. Then one steps into the netherworld between moving cars and hopes the laws of physics remain consistent and things don't start uncoupling randomly.

One also hopes there are no sleep walkers in my car least they take a wrong turn, hit the "Push" button at the rear of the train, stumble out the back door and find themselves in the middle of nowhere. That Arby's sign is long gone and can't be used for navigation.

Train Travel Reaches A New Level of Luxury, 12.11.13

After two overnight train trips that nearly pushed me into neurosis, psychosis, and fibrosis I upgraded to a sleeper compartment. This entitles me to preferential treatment in the Amtrak lounge. This bodes well for my psyche as I look forward to an 18 hour trip to Denver then a 32 hour trip to Sacramento. I may survive train travel after all. 

The Travel Lodge in Chicago had washer and dryer so I'm all fresh and minty, there's a Dunkin Donuts every 30 feet, and after a frigid mile walk in the ice and snow to Union Station (which included a phone chat with my guy friends in B'ham) I am now warm and toasty. I'm feeling pretty darn good.

I'm adding photos of Chicago's famous L train made famous in While You Were Sleeping and The Fugitive.

Art That Tickles My Funny Bone, 12.11.13

Not all world class art is sonorous, lugubrious, or heavy. Nor is every piece serious, inspirational, or rapturous. Some just make us woozy with delight. Take a gander at these masterpieces. Funny, no?

Confession time: these are the works that tempt my inner shop lifter. Not sure how I'd get that last one in my suitcase.