Technos: Computers: History: Picture of Antikythera Mechanism

Technos: Computers: History: Antikythera Mechanism

I recently read about this mechanical computer in use 2100years ago. Here is the write-up in wikipedia: Antikythera Mechanism

Technos: Computers: History: TeraFLOPS processing power

This from CPU magazine:

Quote:
"The first computer to surpass 1 teraFLOPS of processing power was the Sandia National Laboratories' ASCI Red supercomputer in 1997, which--in its final configuration--made use of 9,298 Pentium II processors in more than 100 cabinets, and occupied...2500 square feet."
Unquote.

This supercomputer used about 500kw of power to operate and another 500kw of power for cooling--one megawatt. Compare that to ATI's Radeon 4870 video card, which uses 160w of energy total and has one teraFLOPS of processing power.

So, eleven years later, we can get the same processing power for 1/6,250th of the energy requirement. Isn't technology great?

The definition of delicious: A cool drink of water on a hot day.

Social Philosophy: Imperialism Club

So, Russia wants to join the same Imperialism club that the USA invited itself to. Here is an excerpt from an article from National Review that gives a perspective not usually found in the mainstream media:

Quote--

Caucasus Belli

Though the order "Lights, camera, action!" was given by Georgian president Mikhail Saakashvili, the wartime drama now unfolding in the Caucasus was devised, scripted, directed, and produced in Moscow by Vladimir Putin and his fellow siloviki (former-KGB kleptocrats). The Russians say their invasion was meant to protect the rights of a persecuted minority; in fact, it was nothing of the kind. For almost two decades Russia has sought to divide and destabilize the new independent states in its former backyard by establishing, financing, and protecting "breakaway" ethnic statelets--such as South Ossetia and Abkhazia, within the sovereign territory of Georgia.

These slatelets fulfill two important functions. First, they provide the siloviki with country estates. Almost none of the officials in the South Ossetian government are locals; most are high-ranking former KGB officials from other parts of Russia. South Ossetia provides them with a safe haven in which they can launder money, run smuggling operations, traffic in women, divert official funds into their pockets, and wage small but useful wars. Those wars are the second function: They punish pro-Western states such as Georgia, which is already weakened by division.

South Ossetian "forces" have been bombing Georgian villages at irregular intervals for years, but more intensely of late. Saakashvili sought to regain at least some of South Ossetia with a lightning raid, whereupon a massive Russian response, quite manifestly ready to go, was launched. Russian tanks rolled into South Ossetia; another pro-Russian force attacked Georgia in the part of Abkhazia that Georgia still controlled; and Georgia's modest army was forced to withdraw. Russian planes continued to bomb central Georgia, and when Saakashvili proposed a ceasefire, the Russians at first refused to talk to him, then started multiplying conditions for their acceptance.

The Russians remain bent on toppling the elected Georgian regime, which they accuse of war crimes. There are plausible reports that the Georgian forces shelled villages in their incursion into South Ossetia, but they were overwhelmed so quickly that they simply could not have done anything on the scale alleged by the Kremlin. Besides, Russia's long patronage of South Ossetian attacks, its invasion across internationally recognized borders, and its relentless bombing of a country that had retreated and offered a ceasefire deprives it of any right to make such accusations. Russian policy is a war crime in itself.

End of Quote--

Of course the USA doesn't have moral authority to criticize Russia's own 'savage little wars of peace' as our country likes it's Imperialism only too well.

from the Crimea

W: General: Leithart on Novelistic language

Peter Leithart's brief entry gives an aspiring writer something to think about:
Novelistic Language

W: General: Solzhenitsyn: Mahoney on his writings

In the Sept.1st edition of National Review, Professor Daniel J. Mahoney writes in the section, ‘books, arts & manners’, a great summary of the literary impact of Solzhenitsyn. I was hoping the article was online, so that I could link to it, but you’ll just have to go down to a properly equipped library and look at his article in the National Review.

Mr. Mahoney begins his article this way:

With the death of Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn the world has lost one of the great souls of this or any age. His story was beyond improbable: A former prisoner or “zek” in the vast system of Soviet prisons and labor camps who had also miraculously survived a bout with abdominal cancer, an “underground writer” who never expected a single word of his to be published in his own lifetime, Solzhenitsyn was catapulted to world fame with the November 1962 publication of his novella One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich.

--the article goes on to trace Solzhenitsyn’s thought and writing, but I will fast-forward to the summary at the end. Before I do, I have to quote this:

Solzhenitsyn was a writer in the grand 19th-century Russian literary tradition who was supremely confidant in the power of literature, rooted in truth and the best ethical traditions of Russia and the West, to defeat violence and lies, the twin pillars of 20th-century totalitarianism. And he was right…

--now for the summary:

How can we who live in a post-totalitarian* age begin to honor Solzhenitsyn’s legacy? A good starting point would be to move beyond reducing Solzhenitsyn to the level of an opiner on current events, the habitual approach of almost all journalistic commentaries on his work. Now that his life and work are complete we are called to confront him openly, honestly, critically, as a writer, historian, and moral and political philosopher (in the highest, non-academic sense of that term). Solzhenitsyn is a writer of considerable talent, skill, and grace, a historian who has helped recover the memory of Russia and the sources of the totalitarian temptation, as well as the great analyst—and scourge—of the ideological manipulation of the bodies and souls of human beings. Solzhenitsyn the philosopher teaches us never to confuse technological progress—however necessary and welcome—with the definitive transformation of the moral constitution of human beings. There can never be an “end to history,” only the slow and patient moral growth of the human soul. More provocatively, the zek turned writer and historian has deepened our self-understanding by showing that the ultimate roots of totalitarian repression lie in “anthropocentricity,” the mad illusion that human beings can take the place of God. In a thousand ways his writings show that the effort to deify man leads to nothing less than self-enslavement. Far from being yesterday’s news, Solzhenitsyn remains a teacher and moral witness for today and tomorrow. His writings will continue to speak to the hearts, souls, and minds of all those who cherish human liberty and dignity, as we work to free ourselves from contemporary if milder versions of the “lie.”

*(Mr. Mahoney’s view—I don’t the believe that the totalitarian age is over yet.)

W: General: Solzhenitsyn: picture from gulag--freezing posterior off

W: LP: LG: FD: BK: more from Zosima

More from the life of elder Zosima on the subject of servants & masters:

When Zosima was still an officer in the Russian Army, at a period of pride and stress just before his change of heart (brought about at a time when facing a question of life & death leading up to duel instigated by Zosima himself), he struck his servant-soldier (an army private serving as his orderly) across the face for something petty. When he had his change of heart, he had apologized. Years later, after he had become a monk:

…I met one day, in the provincial capital of K----, my former orderly, Afanasy. It was then already eight years since I had parted with him. He saw me by chance in the marketplace, recognized me, ran over to me, and God, how delighted he was to see me! He rushed up to me: “My dear master, is it you? Can it really be you?” He took me home. He had left the army by then, was married, and had two small children. They supported themselves by hawking wares in the marketplace. His room was poor, but clean, joyful. He sat me down, lit the samovar, sent for his wife, as if my appearance was somehow a festive occasion. He brought the children to me: “Bless them, father.” “Is it for me to bless them?” I replied. “I am a simple and humble monk, I shall pray to God for them; and for you, Afanasy Pavlovich, I have prayed to God always, every day, since that very day, for I tell you, it all came about because of you.” And I explained it to him as far as I could. And what do you think: the man looked at me and still could not imagine that I, his former master, an officer, could be there before him as I was, and dressed as I was. He even wept. “Why are you weeping?” I said to him. “Better rejoice for me in your soul, my dear my unforgettable man, for my path is a bright and joyful one.” He did not say much, but kept sighing and shaking his head over me tenderly. “And where is your wealth?” he asked. “I gave it to the monastery,” I replied, “we live in common.” After tea I was saying good-bye to them when he suddenly produced fifty kopecks as a donation to the monastery, and then slipped another fifty kopecks hurriedly into my hand: “This is for you, father, maybe you’ll need it in your travels and wanderings.” I accepted his fifty kopecks, bowed to him and his wife, and left rejoicing, thinking as I went: “Here are the two of us, he at home and I on the road, both no doubt sighing and smiling joyfully, in the gladness of our hearts, shaking our heads when we recall how God granted us this meeting.” I never saw him again after that. I was his master, and he was my servant, and now, as we kissed each other lovingly and in spiritual tenderness, a great human communion took place between us. I have given it much thought, and now I reason thus: Is it so far beyond reach of the mind that this great and openhearted communion might in due time take place everywhere among our Russian people?

…as a young man, I would often get angry with servants…And then suddenly there shone on me my dear brother’s thought…”Am I worthy, such as I am, that another should serve me, and that, because he is poor and untaught, I should order him about?” And I marveled then that the simplest, most self-evident thoughts should come so late to our minds. The world cannot do without servants, but see to it that your servant is freer in spirit than if he were not a servant. And why can I not be the servant of my servant, and in such wise that he even sees it, and without any pride on my part, or any disbelief on his? Why can my servant not be like my own kin, so that I may finally receive him into my family, and rejoice for it? This may be accomplished even now, but it will serve as the foundation for the magnificent communion of mankind in the future, when a man will not seek servants for himself, and will not wish to turn his fellow man into servants, as now, but on the contrary, will wish with all his strength to become himself the servant of all, in accordance with the Gospel. And is it only a dream, that in the end man will find his joy in deeds of enlightenment and mercy alone and not in cruel pleasures as now—in gluttony, fornication, ostentation, boasting, and envious rivalry with one another?

--but then the skeptic asks:


…when will the time come, and does it look as if it will ever come?
But I think that with Christ we shall bring about this great deed.

--the godless revolutionary wants to set up this communion of mankind, but without God, and Zosima says from Brothers Karamasov:

They hope to make a just order for themselves, but, having rejected Christ, they will end by drenching the earth with blood, for blood calls to blood, and he who draws the sword will perish by the sword. And were it not for Christ’s covenant, they would annihilate one another down to the last two men on earth. And these last two, in their pride, would not be able to restrain each other either, so that the last would annihilate the next to last, and then himself as well.

Historical note: All the various flavors of socialism are responsible for at least 100,000,000 (thats one hundred million) deaths in the twentieth century alone, by conservative estimates.

The living water makes the difference

W: LP: LG: FD: BK: from life of elder Zosima

In the Brothers Karamazov from the life of Elder Zosima, the elder speaks on what would bless the clergy and bring more of the people to faith. This has application to ministers and elders and all of us of all the branches of Christianity in our day. Here is a short passage to represent the idea of service (my comments in italics):

quote:
For even if he has no time, even if he says rightly that he is oppressed all the time by work* & church services, still it is not quite all the time, still he does have at least one hour out of the whole week when he can remember God. And the work is not year-round. If at first he were to gather just the children in his house, once a week, in the evening, the fathers would hear about it and begin to come. Oh, there’s no need to build a mansion for such a purpose, you can receive them simply in your cottage; do not fear, they will not dirty your cottage; you will have them only for an hour. Were he to open this book and begin reading without pretension, without putting himself above them, but tenderly and meekly, rejoicing that you are reading to them, and that they are listening to you and understand you; loving these words yourself, and only stopping every once in a while to explain some word that a simple person would not understand—do not worry, they will understand everything, the Orthodox heart will understand everything!

*(Historical note: a parish priest would often have to do his own farming as well as serve his parish.—the 19th century bi-vocational minister.)

--and then a little later in the sub-chapter—

Fathers and teachers forgive me and do not be angry that I am talking like a little child of what you have long known, which you could teach me a hundred times more artfully and graciously. I am only speaking from rapture, and forgive my tears, for I love this book! Let him, the priest of God, weep too, and he will see how the ears of his listeners will be shaken in response to him. Only a little, a tiny seed is needed: let him cast it into the soul of a simple man, and it will not die, it will live in his soul all his life, hiding there amidst the darkness, amidst the stench of his sins, as a bright point, as a great reminder.

--this is true of the Spirit’s work through the Scripture, I can testify to this effect myself. When I was converted in c.1978 it was through reading the gospel of Matthew and I had only gotten to the murder of the children by Herod (I think in ch.2), when the Holy Spirit started to break me down.
--and here would be the practical consequence of the loving ministry to the people:

And he will see that our people are merciful and grateful and will repay him a hundredfold; remembering the priest’s zeal and his tender words, they will volunteer to help with his work, and in his house, and will reward him with more respect than before—and thus his pay will be increased. It is such a simple matter that sometimes we are even afraid to say it for fear of being laughed at, and yet how right it is! Whoever does not believe in God will not believe in the people of God. But he who believes in the people of God will also see their holiness, even if he did not believe in it at all before. Only the people and their future spiritual power will convert our atheists, who have severed themselves from their own land. And what is the word of Christ without an example? The people will perish without the word of God, for their souls thirst for his word…

--this is a good lesson for me, I have had a hard time with having compassion for my fellow humans, but the solution is to love Christ and He will give me the power to love my fellow human.

Hope in the green tree

ORP: PKD: Now Wait Until Last Year

In this novel Philip K. Dick sets up a story in the future in which it turns out that Earth was a colony of another human stellar empire that is in a protracted war with another alien race of insect-like creatures. In this story Earth is ruled by the UN and the Secretary General is like a dictator and gets Earth involved in the stellar war. And in characteristic PKD fashion, it turns out to be the wrong side to be on. Into this back-story the protagonist, a medical doctor, whose job is to watch over the health of the CEO of his company, gets involved in taking care of the Secretary General (a friend of the CEO), but this character is in a loveless marriage with a domineering wife who is a drug user. She stumbles upon a new experimental drug developed for the war. This drug is toxic, it addicts you the first time and it begins to destroy your liver and central nervous system immediately, but it turns out that the side effect of the drug is to cause the person taking it to hallucinate not just a change in perceived reality but to experience an actual change in your reality. Most people travel backward in time, but a few travel forward, and a very few travel sideways (into parallel universes). The doctor's wife viciously slips the drug into her husband's coffee and the doctor finds out that he is one of those who can travel forward in time. The story goes on through many twists and turns, but I found the introspective interaction of the main character and his wife to be the most interesting. Among other things the character has to deal with issues of life and death, responsibility to your spouse (even in this case where his wife has to be committed to psychiatric treatment). The author has good insight because without Christ, if your closest human relationship deteriorates, sometimes intense love can be turned into intense hate, and somehow many women will become ridiculously jealous if you have any desire or interest in something else that does not involve them. It is always true that a wife can make you or destroy you. I feel this sometimes whenever I start to get too involved in my studies or self-improvement. I have so little time left over after working, commuting, trying to sleep, etc. that when I want to spend time studying to better myself or maybe work toward my dream of being a writer, it becomes the end of the world. One needs grace for every second of life.

Visual of the dry soul

ORP: PKD: Dr. Bloodmoney

To give my brain a break from Dostoevsky, I am reading a few short novels by PKD. Here is a quick writeup on the currently completed story:

Philip K. Dick’s novel, “Dr. Bloodmoney or How We Learned to Get Along After the Bomb,” is a science fiction novel in the sub-genre of apocalyptic or ‘end of the world’ type stories. This story is truly representative of this type of story, because of PKD’s unique style of realism combined with typical science fiction speculation. It was written sometime between 1963 & 1965 which places it still within the ‘hot’ phase of the Cold War. Because the story was written at this time, the projected future of 1981+ is a bit dated. However this minor detail is easily overlooked, since the story is written well enough and follows a vein of American writing that tries to capture the voice of the common man. In addition to describing characters and giving dialogue that is realistic for the time that the story was written, PKD also deals with the psychology of his characters and in this story gives us some characters with unique hang-ups. By being in touch with the psychology, PKD shows us the humanity of humanity. Here is an example from that part of the story where the bombs are falling:

quote--

“We’ll fight back, we’ll fight back, we’ll fight back,” a man near Doctor Stockstill was chanting. Stockstill looked at him in astonishment, wondering who he would fight back against. Things were falling on them; did the man intend to fall back upward into the sky in some kind of revenge? Would he reverse the natural forces at work, as if rolling a film-sequence backward? It was a peculiar, nonsensical idea. It was if the man had been gripped by his unconscious. He was no longer living rational, ego-directed existence; he had surrendered to some archetype.
The impersonal, Doctor Stockstill thought, has attacked us. That is what it is; attacked us from inside and out. The end of the co-operation, where we applied ourselves together. Now it’s atoms only. Discrete, without any window. Colliding but not making any sound, just a general hum.

--end of quote.

The story goes on with what happens to each of the characters introduced at the beginning and somehow they all end up in a little community in East Marin north of San Francisco (the story focuses on this group of characters from Berkley). Anyway, one can find more detailed analysis of this story somewhere on the web, but I wanted to show this little bit of PKD’s prose—it isn’t Earth shattering yet the use of simplicity rightly combined can give you a snapshot of how people would react.

Personal Update: Mini-Plague

So, I wasn't feeling very good Friday night when I was getting ready for work; usually I can shake these things off. I took a hot shower, pumped up with vitamins, got my caffeine, and headed off to work in a daze. My foreman could see that I wasn't feeling very well so he had me work on my project from the week (we are adding emergency stops to the crossovers on Mainline Belt 1 of the conveyance system for United). I shut the system down and started working on the circuit and my health continued to deteriorate and at one point I passed out for a few minutes. It was all I could do to get the circuit back together and get the system back on by 0300 (so that I could test before 0400 startup). I got it back together in time (I caught myself in an error before I made it) and it tested fine the first time. After all this I had to run back to parts room and grab a 400hz tester to go checkout why the E/F interlock wasn't working on the 400hz service (the aircraft ground power when the aircraft isn't running). While there, I had to pass out again for 20-30 minutes before heading over to the loading bridge.
At this point my clarity of thought was fast fading and I was a little unstable on the ladder. I finally called my foreman and told him I had to go home sick. After putting everything away and staggering back to my car, I passed out again for about half an hour and then finally drove home and I only nodded off twice--thank God for His protection.
I remained in a shivering fever from that Saturday morning when I arrived home until Sunday afternoon when I had recovered enough to make it to a meal and evening Service (I still had a fever but kept it under control by means of legal analgesics). I slept all Sunday night until late this morning and now my only issue is a knotted up gut and a twinging back. I'll probably call in sick tonight.
This was the weirdest flu, because at the time of the fever, there was no accompanying nausea or congestion just a straight gnarley fever. I felt as if I were in suspended animation or something. It was bad and I could hear myself groaning.
Bizarre.
I had to be sick, because I missed my beloved Literary Group Meeting.

Anyway, glad to be back to the life of the normal undead.

Writing: General: Sholzhenitsyn Dies

Alexander Solzhenitsyn is one of my literary heroes, not only because he wrote some good books showing the humanity of the victims of Russian Communism, but because he steadfastly resisted totalitarianism and was not worried about popularity when he came to warn the US about the dangers of "anti-freedom" (to the unfortunate boredom of many in his audiences). My favorite book of his that I recommend to everyone is his, "One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich". May he rest in peace.