I really enjoyed this weekend’s profile of U.S. Olympics swimmer Michael Phelps in the New York Times Magazine (not to mention the magazine’s cover photo, which appears with the article). I think this part is so cute:

Phelps is no good on land. He is weirdly hyperflexible, what is sometimes called double-jointed, and therefore not entirely stable. He does not lift weights. He used to run but gave it up because of a tendency to step in holes or trip over nothing. To exert himself on land, even mildly, is to risk orthopedic peril… Wherever he is, water must be made available to him. He craves it like some sea creature who can survive for only so long at the ocean’s edge.

It’s neat how certain human beings are eerily built for certain things, like swimming, or playing the piano, or communicating in sign language (OK, the last one is a gorilla, but close enough). Here’s part of what makes Phelps such a great swimmer:

Phelps’s build — 6 feet 4 inches, 195 pounds, broad shoulders, slim hips — conforms to the classic swimmer’s physique. But he is a type within that type, with a bizarrely long torso and short legs — an inseam of just 32 inches — that help him ride high in the water like a long, thin sailboat. The body below hip level is what tends to sag in the water, creating drag, or resistance, so Phelps, relative to his overall height, has a short lower body to keep afloat. “He has the upper body of a man who is 6-foot-8 but not the legs to go with it,” says Jonty Skinner, USA Swimming’s national team director of technical support. “It’s an advantage.” Another Phelps oddity: unlike most people, for whom height and wingspan are nearly identical, his wingspan is 6-foot-7, 3 inches longer than his height. He is that rare person with short legs but long arms — that is, long levers for pulling water.

Speaking of U.S. Olympic athletes, I have a big crush on gymnast Paul Hamm. Totally cute and only 5’6″.

Is it too late for me to become a gymnast? I totally have the height for it.

Here are all the U.S. Olympic gymnast bios.

Anyway, the opening ceremonies will be on NBC this Friday night. I wanna watch. (Hope you don’t mind.)

I’ve just finished a great book called Aristotle’s Children, by Richard E. Rubenstein. The book is ostensibly about history and philosophy — namely, the rediscovery of Aristotle’s works during the Middle Ages, and their impact on society. But it also manages to be relevant to the world we live in. Rubenstein writes that the awakenings caused by the rediscovery of Aristotle’s works are not widely known or accepted as part of our “cultural story” today; instead our culture focuses on the Renaissance, on Galileo and Copernicus, on the struggle of science to overcome the strictures of religion — on what he calls the “origin myth” of modern science: “the notion that scientifc research could not emerge as a respected and productive activity until it had liberated itself from the clutches of a dogmatic, authoritarian faith.”

Rubenstein points out that after engaging themselves with the works of Aristotle during medieval times, philosophers and religious figures began the process of reconciling faith and reason. For a couple of centuries, they were able to do so; those who explored the natural world were religious, and those who led the church tried to accommodate science. After all, Aristotle’s world-view itself accepted both faith and reason, although in medieval times this led to a productive tension between the two.

As Rubenstein puts it, this tense relationship between faith and reason eventually led to a divorce, to the point that the modern world sees faith and reason, religion and science, as mutually exclusive. We feel we’ve resolved the tension today by compartmentalizating the two: reason and science should control public policy while faith and religion should remain confined to the private sphere. But this doesn’t work, Rubenstein says, and (interestingly to me) he cites homosexuality, among other public issues:

These disputes are not between faith and reason but between alternative visions of the good person and the good society that have roots in both modes of thought. What makes them potentially destructive… are claims that one party’s views are purely rational and scientific, while the other’s rest on pure faith. Such claims eliminate the possibility of dialogue…

“Homosexuality is genetically determined; religion and ethics have nothing to do with the matter,” say some advocates of gay and lesbian rights. But the argument from genetics (whose scientific validity remains in question) masks an ethical commitment that places a higher value on love between consenting adults than on policies and customs promoting heterosexual behavior. “Homosexuality is condemned by the Bible; that’s all there is to it,” reply some of their “fundamentalist” opponents. But the argument based on biblical literalism (which involves selecting some commands for enforcement, while enforcing others) masks non-biblical concerns for the maintenance of the traditional heterosexual family and the avoidance of promiscuity and disease… Agreement on such matters may not be possible between people holding strong convictions on either side. But a humane dialogue can take place between those committed, as the Aristotelians were, to the search for norms that are both ethical and reasonable.

(I did a double-take when I read the part about promiscuity and disease, until I realized that he was characterizing what some fundamentalists believe.)

Both ethical and reasonable.

I wrote recently that I’m essentially an atheist. I do however, have a personal ethic: make yourself happy, let other people be happy in their own way, and don’t harm others. This ethic had to come from somewhere; not necessarily from a higher power, but from somewhere. It could be genetic, or a Freudian suppression of impulses that would be harmful to society if unleashed, or a subconscious strategic calculation that if I hurt other people, they could hurt me back. But the point is that it’s a sense of ethics, something that is (possibly) separate from reason.

I’m not sure where I’m going with this, but it’s a fascinating subject, and the excerpt above helps point the way toward a resolution (someday) of certain contentious issues in our world.