“Have you noticed how much they look like orchids? Lovely!”
– “More From The Notebooks of Lazarus Long” –Robert Heinlein

“There is no such thing as perfect”, she said,
What she meant was Platonic Ideal;
That ancient Greek has made us seek
For things that are better than real.

All populations will vary, you know,
Even twins aren’t exactly the same
And that’s the appeal of the things that are real
Cos monotony sure is a shame

Perfection, to me, is a wonderful spectrum,
A rainbow of difference and change
The lows and the highs, every shape, every size,
My perfection is seen in a range

Bigger, or smaller, or thicker, or thinner
Darker or paler in hue
Yes, every complexion is part of perfection
Including, so perfectly, you.

But Plato’s perfection, a perfect ideal
Is the reason for this operation
But cutting some snips off of vaginal lips
Isn’t perfect, it’s just mutilation

When Barbie is viewed as a model for women
(Despite being merely a doll)
Being hairless and plastic, while patently drastic
Is seen as a goal for us all!

The body (your body) is perfect as is—
It’s a one-of-a-kind work of art!
The flesh of your quim isn’t something to trim—
I’d as soon take a knife to your heart!

Rejoice in the body you already have
Protect it and treat it with care;
Don’t ask which direction will lead to perfection:
My darling, you’re already there!

I’ve written before about some of the problems that arise from a pre-Darwinian view (in this case, a Platonic view) that finds some abstract entity “ideal”, and variations (which, since the ideal is an abstract, must necessarily exist) as imperfections or flaws. The notion that “there’s no such thing as perfect” is a necessary consequence of Plato’s world view, but of course it will be the case when you define “perfect” as he does. In a population-centered view, there is no utility in an abstract ideal; a varying population is a necessary element to evolution, and to life. There is no perfect Luna Moth, for instance–or, just as usefully, we could say that any Luna Moth is perfect (or at least as entitled to use the term “perfect” as any other).

Every McDonald’s hamburger is the same. Every hamburger I grill is different. Which more deserves the label of perfection? (and yes, on occasion one of my burgers may be worse than a McD’s; I do have my off days.) Variety is not just the spice of life, it is the main dish. Things that do not vary are not alive (literally and metaphorically; I know someone who has eaten the exact same lunch for some 50 years–with regard to lunches, this person is long dead.)

So I was particularly disappointed to see this BBC report, a “new warning on perfect vaginas” (It’s well worth a read, although I will not quote much here.) As soon as we speak of “a” perfect vagina, we are in Platonic territory and have defined the goal as out of reach. So women have been seeking some approximation of this perfection, and for some reason have decided that the perfect vagina is not that of a woman at all, but that of a prepubescent girl. Labioplasty is on the rise, and the story reports on a “‘shocking’ lack of information on the potential risks”, as well as the dubious ethics of a procedure that seems preponderantly to be a response to culturally-created concerns about looking… well, like a woman instead of like a Barbie doll.

It’s bad enough when platonic thinking misleads people about atheism and religion. But far worse is the notion that it is powerful enough to lead people to voluntarily (no, worse–to pay for it) have someone take a scalpel to their genitals (!!) in order to transform them from unique into assembly-line monotony.

Of course, the article presents others who call the surgeries safe and a simple way to address self-image problems. Mind you, these others are on the receiving end of the £3,000 paid for the operation, and have no incentive to complain about Plato.

And, not that it matters, but there are just sooooo many other titles I could have chosen for this post, which would have guaranteed hundreds of clicks on a daily basis for years to come… ok, all of them from people looking for a particular sort of porn, but still.

Image: Michael McRae

I took a walk through time and space—
Through several million years—
I found that some things never change,
Or that’s how it appears.
Stupidity’s a constant
(Hey, I call ‘em as I see ‘em);
I noted Man’s is not the sole
Creationist Museum.
Seems everywhere I looked around
In present or in past,
I found museums touting God—
And all of them half-assed.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised
Or find them each defective;
Each species must be Number One
When seen from their perspective.

The early primates said:

God created Lemurs, and
The world was truly blest;
“Descent of Man” is apropos—
He’s clearly second best.
The perfect form’s arboreous,
As anyone can tell
When apes descended from the trees
Things really went to Hell.

The early tetrapods said:

Acanthostaga sits supreme
As God’s most perfect beast;
To get from them to humankind
Just go from best to least.
Look inside our holy books
And find revealed—the Flood;
God’s favorite creatures, thus, must live
In water and in mud.

The early chordates said:

God created Amphioxus,
Perfectly designed.
Mutations and deformities,
And now we have Mankind.
With notochord, pharyngeal slits,
Their form is most divine
Then vertebrates just messed it up
And now they have a spine.

The prokaryotes said:

The truly blest bacterium
God’s chosen form of life
With billions of them in the gut
Of Adam and his wife.
The heaven-blessed prokaryote
Is God’s Most Perfect Form,
And mammals are just one more way
To keep us nice and warm.

As I said before, I’m re-posting some of my favorites (and yours, if you let me know which ones) during this kinda sorta Fall Fundraiser Drive (tip jar over there on the right).

This one is from nearly 2 full years ago, back when about a dozen people were reading here. On top of that, it was not linked to from any of the more popular sites I comment on, so the odds are very good that the majority of you have not seen it. Nothing new in it–the Aesop’s fable of the painting makes the same point, as does Haldane’s “fondness for beetles” comment. Human creationist museums must necessarily show the god we created in our image; I cannot imagine that if bacteria had their own creationist museums, they would take a decidedly different perspective.

Image: Michael McRae

There is something in the waters
That can turn my sons to daughters?
I’m so happy that this flyer came to tell me of this fact!
Every smoothie that we’ve blendered
Means they’re halfway to transgendered!
Every second now is precious—it is time for us to act!

Time to panic, and I’m thinking
That the water I’ve been drinking
Is a chemical castration, and a feminazi plan!
I drink water like Niagara
As I wash down my Viagra;
Now I see why it’s not working, and I’m still a little man.

Time to buy some Estro-Blaster
And to hope the mail comes faster—
‘Cos I’m worried that perhaps it may already be too late:
I’m not thinking with my penis,
I’ve abandoned Mars for Venus—
And I find I’m moody, ‘bout a week before I menstruate.

As I said before, I’m re-posting some of my favorites (and yours, if you let me know which ones) during this kinda sorta Fall Fundraiser Drive (tip jar over there on the right).

This verse was my reaction to the snake-oil merchants at Estro-Blaster, who prey on fears of demasculinization (if that is a word) amidst news stories of trace amounts of estrogen found in drinking water. Whether or not something works, it would seem you can sell it better by promising to make manly men more manly. In a related matter, one of my most-read posts is my “ballad of smilin’ Bob”, with the subtitle “the biggest dicks of all”. All of my other most-read posts are associated with one or two days of popularity, but Smilin’ Bob gets a few hits almost every day… each by someone googling for “biggest dicks” or some variant.

*sigh*

If you have friends or relatives in Maine
Who are sane
Or whom you can convince to do what is clearly right for us all
Give them a call.
Whether they are mobsters
Or stereotypical caricatures in slickers and sou’westers fishing for lobsters
Whether they are calm or jittery
Whether they live as far north as Madawaska, or as far south as Kittery
Today is the day, for every woman and every man
To do what they can
To promote
The vote.

Seriously… I know I have a few readers in Maine. I am fairly certain they are already going to vote. Anyone else, take a minute or two and search through your email address book; if you have friends or family in Maine, take an additional minute to make sure they are not going to sit this one out. If they won’t vote for themselves, maybe they’ll vote on your behalf. Vote No On One.

If your friend happens to be a member of one of the churches opposing gay marriage, simply remind them that there are churches today that already approve of gay marriage, and that their vote could set a precedent for control of church policy by the state. It is in their own best interest not to set that precedent. Vote No On One.

If your friend decides to argue with you, call them up. Let them rant and rave as long as they want to… preferably until just after polls close.

Vote No On One.

I’m Cuttlefish, and I approved this message.

The participants are speaking, telling what occurred that day,
Sharing stories of their puzzlement and grief;
But the dissonance believers feel, is giving Mr. Ray
The impenetrable armor of belief.

How could people die for nothing? How could all this be a scam?
All my money, all my effort, all my pain?
When a Faithful True Believer is the heart of what I am,
Then a sacrifice must always lead to gain.

While the victims fell unconscious, Mr. Ray stood at the door,
Telling people they were going to have to wait—
It’s a difficult experience, but that is what it’s for,
And the attitude you take will choose your fate.

So the blame fell on the victims, and their weakness was the cause,
I’ll survive it if I only just believe—
And I’ll praise the New Age guru, cos he pointed out our flaws,
As the victims’ friends and families now grieve.

The New York Times has a followup article on the deadly Sedona sweat lodge ceremony run by Oprah’s darling James Arthur Ray. I had written on this earlier, and I hate to say that my analysis was pretty damned close–victims are being blamed, Ray is being lauded, excuses are being made.

It must be a horrible thing, to know that you paid a lot of money, went through a lot of trouble and pain, to be lied to and endangered by a cult leader. So, of course, that can’t be what happened. The article should be used as the new textbook example for cognitive dissonance. It sounds like it was just horrendous:

Midway through a two-hour sweat lodge ceremony intended to be a rebirthing experience, participants say, some people began to fall desperately ill from the heat, even as their leader, James Arthur Ray, a nationally known New Age guru, urged them to press on.

Investigators looking over a sweat lodge at a retreat center near Sedona, Ariz. Three people died after an event there this month.

“There were people throwing up everywhere,” said Dr. Beverley Bunn, 43, an orthodontist from Texas, who said she struggled to remain conscious in the sweat lodge, a makeshift structure covered with blankets and plastic and heated with fiery rocks.

Dr. Bunn said Mr. Ray told the more than 50 people jammed into the small structure — people who had just completed a 36-hour “vision quest” in which they fasted alone in the desert — that vomiting “was good for you, that you are purging what your body doesn’t want, what it doesn’t need.” But by the end of the ordeal on Oct. 8, emergency crews had taken 21 people to hospitals. Three have since died.

Mr. Ray has been accused of standing by the exit, intimidating people who wished to leave:

Mr. Ray, who is based in Carlsbad, Calif., did not respond to requests for comment. At a public seminar in Denver on Tuesday, he was interrupted by two men who shouted, “Tell them the truth!” and: “You control people! You stood in front of the door and refused to let people leave.”

The men were escorted from the meeting, and people burst into applause for Mr. Ray. “I, too, want answers and am cooperating with authorities,” he said. He asked for a moment of silent prayer for those who had died.

Read that again. The applause was for Mr. Ray. Not for the two man standing up to him. Leon Festinger was right. But, of course, it gets worse:

The deaths have not shaken all of Mr. Ray’s supporters. “He sets up the stage for people to change their lives — he gives you the tools,” said Meredith Ann Murray, a real estate agent in Bellingham, Wash. She attended a 2007 Spiritual Warrior retreat, where she spent three hours in a sweat lodge. Mr. Ray let people come and go as they pleased, she said. Ms. Murray said she had had a “huge breakthrough” in the sweat lodge that helped her overcome claustrophobia.

She also described a game — enacted again at the retreat this month — in which Mr. Ray wears white robes and plays God, ordering some participants to commit mock suicide.

Mr. Ray, I’d like you to meet Jim Jones; Jim Jones, this is Mr. Ray. I think you two will have a lot to talk about.

The Times article saves the biggest slap in the face for last:

Dr. Bunn and others said that by the end of the final round in the sweat lodge, at least three people were unconscious. Mr. Ray’s employees, called the Dream Team, threw water on people as they emerged from the structure, which was about 24 feet wide and 4 1/2 feet tall.

The events have left Dr. Bunn distraught and angry. Dr. Bunn said that as she was crawling out of the tent, weak from exhaustion, she found Ms. Brown, her roommate at Angel Valley, not moving. “I think Kirby was barely gasping her last breaths, and that’s what I was hearing as I got out of the tent.”

On a conference call Mr. Ray held last week for sweat lodge participants, Dr. Bunn was shocked to hear one recount the comments of a self-described “channeler” who visited Angel Valley after the retreat. Claiming to have communicated with the dead, the channeler said they had left their bodies in the sweat lodge and chosen not to come back because “they were having so much fun.”

Dr. Bunn had a less charitable view: “They couldn’t re-enter their bodies because they were dead.”

“The Secret” is all about blaming the victims. But damn…

Embedded video from CNN Video

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