Jonathan Winters died

What a joy he was. I thought he was the funniest man who ever lived. But he paid a high price for this achievement. Like George Carlin, Winters' demons pursued him. Their minds were just too active; they couldn't turn the flow off. It was endless. It's a strain, living with that much creativity. Just ask anyone who's in possession of this rare gift. It ain't easy.

This story about his life is a good one, despite its brevity. I remember this performance as if it occurred last week:

On Jack Paar's television show in 1964, Winters was handed a foot-long stick and he swiftly became a fisherman, violinist, lion tamer, canoeist, U.N. diplomat, bullfighter, flutist, delusional psychiatric patient, British headmaster and Bing Crosby's golf club. 

He was a great comedian, unlike any other (except those who imitated him). I was glad to see that he made it to the age of 87 and was content with his life. That's the one and only prize in life, kids. If you end up happy, you won. End of story.

About all those buried bodies

The other day when I was watching the news, there was a story about idiot kids who wrecked a cemetery. Headstones were overturned, monuments were cracked, etc. It was a sorry sight.

I was struck by the lament of a woman who was interviewed for the story. She said (I'm paraphrasing since I didn't save the recording), "Don't they understand that this is all that's left of us when we're gone?"

That simple statement opened a door for me. I'm always flummoxed when people show fierce attachment to dead bodies. Truly, I don't get it. The instant a person dies, the body is meaningless. We should toss it out or better yet, recycle it. What we shouldn't do is put it in an expensive box, bury the box and then visit it on Sundays. I've never understood that.

But this woman's statement opened a door for me. She really believed that graves represent "all that's left of us when we're gone." What a concept. I guess it's true that if you haven't left something worthwhile behind on this Earth, all you are is a dead body rotting in a buried box.

But who doesn't leave something behind? True; sometimes it's wreckage: harm, pain and evil deeds. But sometimes the person leaves a beautiful painting or a history book that she wrote. If you make something wonderful, it will continue to live beyond the moment of your death. If you were a decorator, there will be homes that still show your style. A construction worker leaves buildings in his wake. Politicians leave laws that continue to function. And parents leave children who, in turn, create other children.

But yeah, I guess if you've done absolutely nothing with your life, all that's left of you is that creepy thing rotting inside a box, six feet under. This doesn't change my opinion at all, mind you. Cemeteries are an appalling notion. But it was good to finally understand what people see in this odd cemetery tradition.

Accomplish something in life. Leave something beautiful behind when you depart this Earth. That's why you're here.

More religious dimwittery

There's an AP story today about the guy who died while handling snakes for jeebus. I linked to Jerry Coyne's dry summary of the event in the post below. In the AP story, there's this gem from a witness:

"I don't think anyone necessarily expected it," she told the newspaper, "but they've dealt with it before so it's not such a huge shock, maybe." 

It's just a normal day at the office for these folks. Dimwits, one and all. Here's a quote from the guy who died:

"I know it's real; it is the power of God," Wolford told The Washington Post Magazine last year. If he hadn't started handling snakes after returning to his church, he said, "it'd be the same as denying the power and saying it was not real." 

Indeed. And now you're dead. That's what's real.

Religious fool dies

Jerry Coyne has the story.

About that heaven idea

From an interview with Stephen Hawking:

"I have lived with the prospect of an early death for the last 49 years. I'm not afraid of death, but I'm in no hurry to die. I have so much I want to do first," he told the newspaper.

"I regard the brain as a computer which will stop working when its components fail. There is no heaven or afterlife for broken down computers; that is a fairy story for people afraid of the dark."

Identity is a curious concept

I want to play with the idea of identity in this post. Let's begin by considering the familiar Star Trek transporter.

You are an officer aboard the starship Enterprise and it's time to beam down to the planet. You step onto the transporter pad and O'Brien jiggles his levers, and the transporter beam surrounds you . . . but there is a malfunction. Although it does transport you to the planet, as planned -- it also leaves "you" still standing on the transporter pad. For some reason it copied rather than transported you.

Since you're still on the ship, you consider the "you" on the planet to be a "copy". Although it's you in every way, you believe you reign supreme because you were there first. If it comes down to who owns that iPad-49, it's yours, baby. No doubt about this -- at least, as far as you're concerned. The guy on the planet may feel differently.

So although there are two of you, identical in every way, you are convinced that you're the "real" one. But really, what has happened here? If the machine had worked properly, it would have put you on the planet without leaving you behind. It did put you on the planet. The problem seems to lie in the continued existence of the "original" you. Unless that original is destroyed, you can't believe that the transported being is really you. I call this the "destruction principle".

Let's consider this question with a different example. We're told that we will be able to "download our minds into computers" within a few decades. The way it's spoken about, the downloaded being will be you in every way, except it won't have a body. But here's the thing -- after you've "downloaded your mind", your old self will still exist. And you know that will make you consider the "original you" to be the "real you".

But let's apply the destruction principle here and see what happens. If the process of downloading your mind killed you, it would indeed seem like you traveled into the computer. It's the destruction that accomplishes the trick. As long as the original you disappears, the new you will seem to be you.

So the rule seems to be -- Kill the original if you want to perceive the new being as having the identity of the original "self". That's the winning formula. But what does this say about the reality of our "selves"?

It's weird, isn't it? This is fodder for hundreds of stories and I plan to write a few of them. I want to blast this concept into people's brains. The lesson here is that our "selves" are malleable. Identity is a matter of perception, or it soon will be. The truth is that we are infinitely adaptable; we can change and become all sorts of things, and in the future this is exactly what we will do.

Our flesh bodies are merely our current "ride". And I don't know about you, but I'm ready to move on up.