Statistics

As Foundation day comes closer, we are making preparations for it. Celebrations at the chapel, cake at Gottin's Lamp bar. And perhaps ship blessings.

During coffee break discussions yesterday I argued that blessed ships, by the definition of blessing, should last longer for any given capsuleer, provided the capsuleer in question does not horrendously sin after the blessing.

Slowly, a project in statistics started to dawn on me. I can compare the average (or, alternatively, median) time for unblessed ships to get lost with that of blessed ships. A clear statistically provably significant difference would constitute a proof of divine providence. If there's no difference, it still does not prove anything - as there are many complicating factors - but if there is, it's a smoking gun that the atheists in the cluster cannot ignore.

I look forward to gathering my empirical evidence.

Battling entropy

I am using the rare moment of relative quietness to clean up my work space. My living quarters I keep very minimalistic, but my desk at the library, and the little room I use as some sort of office, that is a different affair altogether.

My desks are landscapes of paper piles of various heights and dubious structural stability. 

The two largest stacks are severely tilted, and each one separately would certainly fall over, but they lean against each other to give each other stability and together they do not collapse. They look like a metaphor for some couples that I married in the Chapel.

I scribble a lot of notes while working, and they go on a pile. I get brochures and advertisements, and when I plan to go through them later, I put them on one of the piles. Conference notes - or notes I took during interesting lectures? When I get back to the library, I put them on my desk, to sort and summarize later. Interesting papers I think I must read? Same thing. Official letters I get? After reading them I drop them in the office to sort or store later. In the end it all gets buried in big piles of paper that I do not dare to throw away, because perhaps there is still something important in there that I want to keep. 

Today, I sifted through them, and chucked anything I have no use for any more in a cardboard box used for moving. In this case it will move to the trash. I have not done this in a while, and as I got deeper down to the bottom of the piles, I dug deeper into the past. It is like an archeological excavation: layers deeper down were buried in a more distant past. 

From time to time, the excavation reveals a forgotten treasure. I found a souvenir I bought at the Achur monastery I visited two years ago on a cultural exchange programme, some sort of charm for good luck, still in its original wrapping. I had forgotten about it. Also, I was shocked that already two years have passed.

I also found a small cordless scewdriver. I vaguely remember buying it as a gift for one of the library assistants that complained about how many screws there are in the new book cases. I have no idea how it got snowed under with papers. Perhaps I put in on my desk and put a few papers on top to hide it. And then forgot about it.

Then at some point one finds nice papers that still look interesting to read. That is when I start to hesitate and slow down, and get more picky about what to throw away. That is the danger. When you start doubting whether to throw away this piece of paper that you have not looked at in years and did not even remember you had, you must steel yourself, and chuck it out anyway.

Today, I got rid of five large boxes worth of paperwork (of which I throw away four and keep one) and looking at my pristine desk I am satisfied with my clean-up. 

The cycle can start again.

Quiet days

It's been relatively quiet these days, it must be the calm of the summer.

Well, of course there is the usual. Ishta is in trouble and on trial in a monastery that is suspected of human traficking for the cartel, and we have had a drug-addicted capsuleer slave in the chapel, sedevancantist influences amongst our holders, piracy, and blasphemy.

I have not heard back from Yun-Hee. She promised to let me know about her departure. I guess she is still preparing herself. With the relative calm now at the Lamp, I have time to think about her words, especially that she can no longer see meaning to her existence. Perhaps it is linked to the fact that those who do not believe in God have difficulty finding any meaning in creation?

 

On suffering

I kept following the discussion on the InterGalactic Summit (IGS). It has turned about the everlasting question of evil. Is God himself evil because there is so much suffering in the world? One can turn this around and equally ask: if God is truly evil and hateful, why is there so much good in the world? This is also part of a discussion I have with one of LUMEN's own. I record in these logs part of this discussion, perhaps for future use: 

"It is easy for people in the IGS to depict God as a clockmaker, bent over some intricate machine with cogwheels and springs. These people stand behind God and tell him, “I would put that piece here”. In such a narrow and mechanistic vision of the act creation, where moreover we think we know it all, it is natural to be angry if the universe does not live up to our vision of how it should be, if it does not deliver what we think we are entitled to. But creation and reality are not mechanistic, deterministic, following the laws of cause and effect. Heck, even at the deepest level of our understanding of physics, the world is not deterministic, and a cause can have many different effects. To me, creation can be corrupted by the acts of the creatures living in it – if it weren’t then the world would be a soulless, dead place. To prevent us, God would have to take away our soul – in stead He freely became vulnerable to allow us to exist."

Race and religion

I am not in the habit of reading or consulting the International Galactic Summit (IGS) forum, but when a contribution of the Directrix-Emerita appears, I do get a 'ping', or warning.

Nicoletta Mithra can rightly be called a capsuleer Doctor of the Faith, and her writings always offer valuable theological insights. 

This time around, there was an argument about the superiority of Amarrians over other races. That was the opening paragraph of the discussion as stated by some fervent but misguided youngster. Lady Mithra clearly laid out that the duty of all faithful are the same regardless of race. We are not selected as God's chosen because of our genetic makeup, but because of how we live. Here is a pearl of wisdom that she shared: "The first and most important convert in the life of any True Amarr is themselves."

Later in the discussion, the argument somehow turned to theodicity. In that regard, I need to talk to one of our own LUMEN capsuleers who blasphemed saying she would kill God if she met Him.

Award money

The award money for the writing contest has been disbursed. I've added it to the skillbook fund, which now has been more than replenished! With this, our library can fund courses for very advanced skills. I have sent out a message to all LUMENeers to remind them of this. 

That way, I can combine benefits of winning an insane amount of money with my vow of poverty...

A farewell

For immortal beings, we remain so very fragile.

Yesterday I had a long conversation with Yun-Hee Yubari, a capsuleer that I met before on several occasions. I never got to know this shy Achuran very well, but I have always appreciated her for her kindness. I think we first met when she was working at Café Marlinea in Mehatoor's 24th Imperial Crusade station. She gave up on that job soon after LUMEN (the café's main client) moved to Nasreri. She followed us there and did some security jobs. We shared tea at her home and garden. After LUMEN moved back to its Mehatoor headquarters, we lost contact.

Recently, she informed me that she no longer wanted to live. Not just reclone and wipe some memories, as I at first thought, but biomass without recloning.

Our first instinct, hard-wired in the oldest vestigial folds of the brain, is to preserve life at any cost. Send her to the medbay, perhaps with force, and try to change her mind. Yun-Hee had foreseen such a reaction, and agreed to meet me on the explicit condition that I would not spend my time trying to talk her out of her decision. Having no other option, and no real power over fellow capsuleers, I conceded.

So we talked about life, and her feeling of not fitting. Her feelings of constant sadness, tiredness of life, an inability to find meaning. It became clear to me that she has taken a long time to consider and think through her decision. It is not on a whim, or because of some acute problem. She has been suffering mentally for a long while, and there is no solution to it. It would be unjust of me to force her to prolong this suffering indefinitely.

I am grateful that she explained this to me, as it offers some consolation, and a way to accept her decision at a rational level. But deep down I cannot escape the feeling that I failed to save a life, not yesterday, but years ago.

((ooc: if the topics discussed in today's blog affect you or if you're struggling with these issues, please know that there are always people you can turn to. In Eve's community we have "broadcast 4 reps" and on their resources page your can find links to professional help and programs.))

The investigation

I talked to the handmaid of lady Raleigh, to find out if her ladyship has any associations with Sedevacantists or with Disciples of Purity. Ishta happened to be present also. It appears we form a good investigative team despite -or perhaps because of- our different approach and character. It is not a "bad cop, good cop" thing like in a Nugoeihuvi crime movie, perhaps it is more of a "naive chaplain, former criminal" thing. Anyhow, in many ways we complement each other. 

Istha saw right away that the handmaid was an addict, a slave to the drug called 'Exile'. I realized this somewhat later, when the handmail refered to our beloved Empress as 'her catty ness', and then started a ramble on Gallente cat people. No sober handmail in the Empire would do that. We brought her to the medbay for detox.

Some good came from her drugged state, nevertheless. "In vino veritas": the drunken person lets their guard down. They even say that in some places, like Nakri, if you do not drink your vodka while the others in your company do get drunk, this is seen as suspect behavior - you clearly have something to hide. 

Anyway, from the handmaid's slurred mumblings I could make out that lady Raleigh has not been meeting in secret with Nauplius (whom she calls 'knee up phallus'). At the very most she can be accused of composing slightly inappropriate poems about the Empress.

Awards ceremony YC125

Yesterday evening was the annual award ceremony for literary prizes, in the Starlight ballroom in Tebu Ankhuman. It is an evening my bookish heart looks forward to.

This year to my surprise I was honored by a first prize! These come with a large sum of ISK - one I cannot accept for myself due to my vow of poverty, but traditionally I add this amount to SFRIM's skillbook fund. This year I can raise the maximum grant amount.

The prize also comes with the temptations of vanity and pride, grave sins, and moreover ones that particularly affect those in academia, and those in the creative arts. Especially the atheist artists: they have no choice but to build their life's meaning through their own creations. Doing so, they have none but themselves as ultimate judge of meaningfulness, which must lead to some existential doubt. So, any outside acknowledgment is an encouragement. 

I also found it hard to shield myself from these twin sins. I admit I felt pride. It seems like God's retribution was immediate: suddenly, the heretic Nauplius appeared at the ceremony.

Rationally I know that Tebu Ankhuman is a freeport, and that all were allowed to come and not be harmed, but nevertheless I felt outraged that he was not immediately apprehended. Khan Arline Kley, bless her sword, was ready to do God's work, but was stopped. She must have felt the same indignation. Matters got worse: Nauplius started spewing his venom, saying that the throne is vacant. Most Amarrian capsuleers just looked away rather than decrying this lie. I may have shouted 'Hail the Empress' louder than I expected. The hails were not echoed. 

Some of our capsuleers did worse than stay silent: lady Raleigh was flattering the heretic, even being flirty. She did repent after the fact, but I could not bring myself to give her absolution right there. I heard her words, but could not judge whether they were truthful.

It all made me angry to a degree that surprised myself. Perhaps this anger in a way was still a reaction to my own failings a year ago, some sort of overcompensation too late after the facts.