Miraculous fiction

I've just started watching the new series of Torchwood. I must admit I'm finding it not a little unconvincing, especially after what seemed like the show's final bow-out — the superb Children of Earth, shown on five consecutive evenings in July 2009.

I'm only one episode into Miracle Day, so perhaps it's too early to judge. But with ten episodes in total, it had better improve or I'll be unwilling to invest more time in it.

Notwithstanding my initial reservations, the theme of the story made me think again about miracles. As I see it there are several ways to define a miracle, two of which are:

1. A miracle is something that can't happen.

2. A miracle is a happening that proves the existence of God.

So if religious apologists insist that a miracle might be an extraordinary event that appears to contradict natural law, they can't use it as proof of God's existence if the event is unlikely but not impossible. God's existence could only be proved by the occurrence of an impossible event. But then you have the problem of defining what's possible and what's not. Taking the Torchwood — Miracle Day example, the miracles are described as such, but there are plenty of people in the story who are looking for some kind of natural explanation, and surprisingly few who take them as examples of God's inscrutable ineffableness. Writer Russell T. Davies is an atheist, but he's not above grappling with religious issues, as he did with The Second Coming.

Personally, I go with the first definition of miracles. Which leaves the second definition high and dry.

Retro-future: "How To Make a Spacious Fortune"

The return of the last Space Shuttle has reminded me of an article I wrote in 2000 for the online magazine Jackhammer E-zine. Eleven years ago — pre-9/11 — the future looked a little different.

How To Make a Spacious Fortune

"Space is big. Really big. You just won't believe how vastly, hugely, mind-bogglingly big it is."

If space is as big as Douglas Adams says (in The Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy), surely there's ample opportunity for making money from it. Unfortunately, big though it is, space consists mostly of one thing: nothing at all.

But perhaps this very lack of something is what the daring entrepreneur can capitalize on. Wouldn't people pay for the privilege of being among the very first to contemplate such vastness?

What we're talking about is one of the biggest money-spinners on Earth. Whole countries depend on it for their survival in today's competitive, commercial world. It's tourism.

What works here on Earth could also work in space: luxury hotels in orbit around the globe, giving their lucky guests the chance to sample the novelties of astronautic life. Who would pass up the chance to try out a zero-gravity toilet? Who would throw over the opportunity of experiencing that curious multi-dimensional disorientation that leads to space-sickness?

It's possible, of course, to simulate gravity in space. But a slowly rotating wheel, large enough for its centrifugal force to equal even a sixth of Earth's gravity -- like the one in the film 2001: A Space Odyssey -- is too big to be a realistic proposition just yet, despite next year being when it was predicted to be feasible.

Then there's the view: the Earth, spinning in isolation, vulnerable in the void, has been described by some astronauts in quasi-religious terms. "My view of our planet was a glimpse of divinity," wrote Edgar Mitchell of Apollo 14.

After being on vacation for some time, it's natural to have the odd tinge of fondness for the place one has so eagerly left. How much more profound to see it hovering below, in the knowledge that it's farther away from you than ever?

Having established that there's a likely market for space tourism, provided the price is right, it's time to look at the practicalities. Let's assume that the goal is an orbiting hotel, and some kind of regular transit service to ferry the guests to and from such a desirable venue.

The first problem is building the place, and for this it seems sensible to take a cue from that other ongoing orbital project, the International Space Station. The ISS is likely to cost American tax-payers $25 billion, not counting the contributions from the ISS partners in Russia, Japan, Europe, Canada and Brazil. The occupants of the initial few modules, enjoying reasonable life-support and accommodation for a crew of three, remain in orbit for about 90 days, but our tourists will probably want to stay a much shorter time.

Although building an orbital hotel will be a massive technological and financial undertaking, the knowledge gained from the ISS will point the way. The main reason that a hotel is not being assembled far above our heads today, is that to be viable a hotel must be easily accessible. A reliable and frequent transport system is needed. NASA's Space Shuttle is at present the only (partly) reusable transport available, but it has proved itself a flexible and adaptable vehicle.

Each Shuttle flight costs in the order of $300 million, so with a payload of perhaps six guests and one or two service personnel, the cost could be in the region of $50 million per guest at today's prices, for the transport alone. This is astronomic, even for the most exclusive accommodation on -- or off -- the globe.

The Shuttle's very versatility makes it non-cost-effective for the comparatively simple task of getting people into orbit and fetching them down again. A more specialized vehicle is obviously what's required, perhaps one with greater capacity. There are many vehicle designs on the drawing board, several of which could serve our purpose. (For sub-orbital flights only, there is even a self-build kit version, the SpaceCub -- a snip at half a million dollars, plus fuel.)

On arrival, what entertainment would be available for these exclusive guests? Naturally a fully equipped fitness room would be a priority. Even during short periods of microgravity, the human skeleton loses a significant amount of calcium -- a process called demineralization -- due to lack of muscle-stress on the bones, so a daily workout would be an essential part of each guest's routine.

There would also be periods of training. Life in space involves many hazards, and though the residents would receive instruction before traveling to orbit, there would be no substitute for learning to cope in the environment itself. This hotel would be far away from the usual facilities found in most large cities on Earth; the residents would need to know what to do in any eventuality. It's unlikely that the rear of the bedroom door would be large enough to contain all the emergency instructions.

Apart from that, they can simply admire the view.

There is a downside. Prospective guests will be aware that this would be a high-risk vacation -- one for which they are unlikely to get adequate insurance cover. Holidaying in orbit, at least at the start of the enterprise, would be for those prepared to accept that they might never come home. And such a vacation would only be for those who could afford it.

David Ashford, director of Bristol Spaceplanes in the United Kingdom, in his paper, "Space Tourism -- How Soon Will it Happen?" has estimated that at a ticket-price of $10,000, "...probably more than one million fare-paying passengers would visit space each year as tourists, requiring a fleet of more than 50 spaceplanes."

There's money to be made here. Get in on the ground floor, and you'll go to the stars -- or at least take the first major step on the way.

Copyright © 2000 Paul S. Jenkins

Note: This article was originally published in Jackhammer E-zine in July 2000. Used with permission.

Creation — a bad move?

In the beginning the Universe was created. This has made a lot of people very angry and been widely regarded as a bad move. Many races believe that it was created by some sort of God, though the Jatravartid people of Viltvodle Six firmly believe that the entire Universe was in fact sneezed out of the nose of a being called the Great Green Arkleseizure. The Jatravartids, who live in perpetual fear of the time they called The Coming of the Great White Handkerchief, are small blue creatures with more than fifty arms each, who are therefore unique in being the only race in history to have invented the aerosol deodorant before the wheel.¹

As creation myths go, that's pretty ridiculous, but compare it to this (more or less random) alternative:

In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. And God said, Let there be light: and there was light. And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness. And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And the evening and the morning were the first day.²

It then goes on a bit, tending to lose its way regarding the logical order of events, but we can cut it some slack as it's a myth. But the point of contrasting these two accounts of how things got started is to show that neither is more likely or more convincing than the other. It's possible to pick holes in both stories: the first one, for instance, simply states the creation of the Universe as bald fact — this is not exactly explanatory. The second example does exactly the same: "In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth." It just happened. It was done, by this character called "God" who is simply assumed to be there without any sort of explanation of who he was or where he came from.

Both examples may yield some insight from the application of literary criticism — but as explanations of how things came to be, they are equally misleading and uninformative. If you're seeking an explanation that correlates with reality, I suggest you look elsewhere.

---

1. The Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy (original radio scripts), Douglas Adams, London 1985, Pan Books, p 90, "Fit the Fifth"
2. The Bible, Authorised King James Version, "Genesis" chapter 1, verses 1-5

Some late night Burnee links

Grassroots Skeptics — Skeptical Activism Campaign Manual
Skeptical resources continue to grow.

Where Can I Find the Really Good Theology? Part One. : EvolutionBlog

"I came to see theology as a moat protecting the castle of religion. But it was not a moat filled with water. No. It was filled with sewage. And the reason religion's defenders wanted us to spend so much time splashing around in the moat had nothing to do with actually learning anything valuable or being edified by the experience. It was so that when we emerged on the other side we would be so rank and fetid and generally disgusted with ourselves that we would be in no condition to argue with anyone."

Jason Rosenhouse follows Jerry Coyne into that unappetizing moat.
Part Two here:
Where Can I Find the Really Good Theology? Part Two : EvolutionBlog
(Via Malcolm Stein.)

My position on communicating skepticism : Pharyngula
P. Z. Myers' position is "no truck with accommodationism". It's not everyone's position, and might not work with some people. But it does work in certain circumstances, and is therefore a valid approach.

Is It Cold in Here? | Cocktail Party Physics, Scientific American Blog Network
So, yes, it's been blown up out of all proportion. But there's apparently a reason for this, and the "atheist and skeptic movement" ignores that reason at its peril.

Skepticule Extra 009 available for download

Stand by your podcatcher, the ninth episode of Skepticule Extra is about to drop into your mp3 player. Cruelly truncated in its prime, this episode cuts off just as it gets into its stride, but needs must when the evangelist calls.

Reith, Muhammed, Jesus (he was a Muslim, you know), Jews, Knowing everything, Telling homeopaths what you really think, Camping with Jesus (he was a Muslim, you know), Touring the End of the World, Prayers before bounty, Debating secularism (or not).

Like I said, short show.

500 miles for a good cause

Today The Mile by Mile Cycling Team began their marathon charity cycle ride from Lancashire to Hampshire, aiming to double their fundraising (currently around £10,000) in aid of Help for Heroes. Three lecturers at South Downs College are cycling 500 miles over ten days in memory of one of their students, Richard Hollington, who died as a result of injuries received on active service in Afghanistan.

The team's website is here:
http://www.milebymilecyclingteam.co.uk/

The blog is here:
http://milebymilebikeride.blogspot.com/

Follow them on Twitter here:
http://twitter.com/#!/MxMBikeRide
(use the hashtag #mbmct)

Find out more here:
http://www.milebymilecyclingteam.co.uk/events.html

Videos!

Maps!

Donate!

A hypothetical belief — and its effects

Imagine holding a belief such that everyone who doesn't share your belief is a liar.

Suppose you hold a belief that the universe is a particular way. That's not asking much; I suspect most people hold such a belief, to a more or less certain degree. Suppose, however, that your belief is very certain, to the degree that it's inconceivable (to you) that you could be mistaken. That's asking a little more, but it still doesn't place you at the extremity of the belief bell-curve.

But suppose the belief you hold — about the particular way the universe is — includes the idea that everyone else actually shares your belief, even if they deny it. If yours is a minority belief it places you in the invidious position of believing (to a degree that it's inconceivable to you that you could be mistaken) that almost everyone else is a pathological liar.

This is not a pleasant place to be, and will adversely affect your relationships with almost everyone. It's likely you will have serious issues with trust. If you firmly believe that most people are willfully lying about their own most fundamental beliefs, you will automatically (perhaps even unconsciously) label them as dishonest and untrustworthy. You will have difficulty taking their words at face value and will constantly question their motives. In short, you will mistrust everything about them.

Consequently, when events don't unfold as hoped or planned, your first instinct will be to assume the liars have cheated you, rather than to ascribe adverse events to simple error, happenstance or the vagaries of inanimate technology. You will be awash in a sea of knaves and scoundrels, against whom you must erect impregnable security.

Meanwhile those "knaves and scoundrels" who observe your actions will see only hubris and paranoia.

But as I indicated in the title of this post, this is a hypothetical scenario. No-one would actually believe something like that, would they?