Spring Semester Skepticism

Songs to Doubt by:

After Dr. Robertson recently posted his soundtrack to our course, I was inspired to create my own interpretation. I've compiled a playlist of ten songs. For each I'll provide a link and some reasoning for why I chose it.

1. "Clap Your Hands!" by Clap Your Hands Say Yeah

I can't think of a better way to begin this soundtrack. Just listen to that crowd of background singers who are being commanded to clap their hands. They're totally skeptical!

Particular Lyrics: "CLAP YOUR HANDS! (But I have no money.) CLAP YOUR HANDS! (Are you up to something?)"

2."Jesusland" by Ben Folds

If you have to watch an ad in order to see this video, I apologize, but I think you'll find it's worth the wait. Yes, this is a song about living in America, but on another level it's about being surrounded by religious zealots and hypocrites.

Particular Lyrics: "Billboards quoting things you'd never say, you hang your head and pray for Jesusland."

3. "No Sunlight" by Death Cab for Cutie

Rule #1 of making a mix is that the third song is the most important. I'd argue this is the most relevant song I've got. This song reminds me that as we grow older we lose much of the optimism that Voltaire attacks in Candide and move towards a more cynical nature like that displayed by Hobbes.

Particular Lyrics: "It disappeared at the same speed as the idealistic things I believed, and the optimist died inside of me."

4. "Thoughts of a Dying Atheist" by Muse

It's all there in the title. Several authors in this course have expressed their thoughts about what may happen to us after death, and many maintain that it's nothing. So, for an atheist, wouldn't death be terrifying?

Particular Lyrics: "Look through my faithless eye. Are you afraid to die?"

5. "Jesus Christ" by Brand New

This song follows the same theme as the last track. It's all about that universal subject of the fear that accompanies that doubt about what may or may not result from death.

Particular Lyrics: "Well, Jesus Christ, I’m alone again, so what did you do those three days you were dead? Because this problem's gonna last more than a weekend."

6. "Antichrist Television Blues" by Arcade Fire

Have you seen that shirt I wear with the neon bible on it? Here's why. This song, in my opinion, is very complicated, and I considered leaving it out. On the one hand, the speaker might honestly profess strong faith in God, in which case this song doesn't seem to belong here. On the other hand, the seemingly devout nature of the lyrics might be ironic or satirical like Gibbon or Voltaire. Whatever your interpretation, I think there's an interesting mix of faith and doubt in this wonderful song. Also, the theme of fatherhood reminds me of Frankenstein.

Particular Lyrics: "Lord, would you send me a sign, 'cause I just gotta know if I'm wasting my time!"

7. "Haligh, Haligh, A Lie, Haligh" by Bright Eyes

In a way, I consider this a morose response to Dr. Robertson's final track, "Take Care" by Beach House. This is a song with lower expectations for human beings, and I feel that it's about loneliness and disappointment. It's about being let down, and I think that feeds doubt.

Particular Lyrics: "You said you hate my suffering, and you understood, and you’d take care of me. You'd always be there. Well, where are you now?"

8. "Constructive Summer" by The Hold Steady

Here's a more upbeat song to kick you out of the depression you might have suffered at the hands of Bright Eyes. This song puts the power in our hands. It says to me: It's up to us to do this, so we're going to act. We can do this. Not any god, but us.

Particular Lyrics: "I read your gospel, it moved me to tears, but I couldn't find the hate and I couldn't find the fear. I met your saviour, I knelt at his feet, and he took my ten bucks and he went down the street."

9. "A Comet Appears" by The Shins

A common theme in all of this (the songs and the course) has been the growing sense of dread that creeps into you and often accompanies doubt. This song really captures that feeling for me: the sadness that comes as you wonder if there's nothing you can reasonably believe in. Also, there's a bit of a Nietzsche reference in the lyrics.

Particular Lyrics: "Every post you can hitch your faith on is a pie in the sky, chock full of lies, a tool we devise to make sinking stones fly."

10. "Satan Said Dance" by Clap Your Hands Say Yeah

I just love when I can make a mix come full circle, so here's another song by Clap Your Hands Say Yeah. The last track in my soundtrack is inspired by the last text in the course, The Satanic Verses by Salman Rushdie. How do you capture a novel like that with a song? This is the closest I can come to answering that perplexing question. It's chaotic, it's strange, it seems almost random, and it gives you the sense that it might be controlled by Satan; but still it holds together as a unified work of art.

Particular Lyrics: "And I know it is not how you thought it would be. No whips no chains just dancing dancing dancing dancing dancing dancing dancing dancing dancing dancing dancing dancing dancing dancing dancing."

I hope you've enjoyed listening to this as much as I've enjoyed making this soundtrack. Enjoy the final hours of your spring break. I'll be seeing you in class soon.

A Society of Atheists:

If I'm not mistaken, then in the recent past Dr. Robertson brought up the question of what a society of atheists would really be like.  When I heard that question, I was reminded of a guy named George Hrab.  Now, Hrab is a musician and a damn good one.  Besides that, he is also an outspoken atheist and a podcaster.  I was listening to his podcast one time when he responded to a letter of fan mail.  The listener's question was something to the effect of: Don't we need religion in order to instruct us on how to live morally?  Hrab maintained that the answer is quite simple—that harmful actions are avoided for their negative consequences.  One commits no crimes in order to stay out of prison, and one is helpful for others so that others might treat him or her the same way.  You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.  In this way, narcissism drives the atheist to behave morally, because s/he does good deeds for his or her own good.  Following that logic, a society without religion would consist of people doing good for others for the sake of making it more likely that good will be done to them.

It took me a few years, but I finally realized what I don't like about that argument.  I think that, in that reasoning, there's an inherent (false) assumption about equality of status among people.  Hrab's idea fails to take into account one important, however unfortunate, fact of life: power.  If you have enough power and you wrong the right people, then this immoral behavior could go without any negative consequences for the powerful party.  For example, if Arnold Schwarzenegger mercilessly beat me to a pulp, then I would not be in any position to exact any revenge on him.  I am not strong enough to physically retaliate.  Even if I were to pump myself up for years (ironically using Arnold's own workout regimen and obsessively watching his movies to drive my lust for vengeance), no amount of time on the Bowflex could get me close to Arnold, because he also has political power.  As the governor of California, he must have a lot of security to defend him. I'm sure the man has some sort of weakness (Chuck Norris?), so maybe this isn't the best example, but I hope I'm getting my point across.

Corporate people in corporate suits find ways to exploit people on the other side of the world, and those impoverished workers will probably never have a chance to make their oppressors pay or even make their voices heard.  With enough power, it is possible to act in a morally reprehensible manner without suffering any backlash from your fellow man.  Such worldly wrongness makes many people flock to ideas like karma, the reassuring belief that those bad people will get what's coming to them before long.  If the villains die peacefully on their mountains of blood money, then some believe that their souls are burning in hell, while others figure they were reincarnated as a grasshopper or something, so they got what they deserved.  But now I've deviated from the belief system of atheists.  Here's a question: Is it possible to be an atheist and yet believe in karma?  Karma is hardly the same as God, but it is a supernatural or otherworldly force.  I wonder if that defies atheism.

For the time being, those are my thoughts on the subject.  Side note: As I wrote this post, I listened to Dr. Robertson's soundtrack for the course.  It made for some interesting listening.  I often enjoy making mixes and playlists myself.  Perhaps in the near future I'll make my own soundtrack for this course, as I interpret it.  Or, instead I might make an opposing playlist centered around belief, theism, and credulity.  If I have enough time, maybe I'll do both projects.  You'll see the track lists on this blog if I create them.

For All Yeasty Fat-Kidneyed Hugger-Muggers:

http://www.pangloss.com/seidel/shake_rule.html

Start with the word "Thou," then add one word from each column, and voilà! You've got your own unique Shakespearean insult. Enjoy.

Writing Exercise #4: Beware the Fail Whale

Don't know what the fail whale is? Just wait until Twitter is down. It only breaks down every other day or so. Speaking of Twitter, you can follow this blog and my new writing exercise at this address:

http://twitter.com/novelgazing

There you'll see two tweets for each chapter of Herman Melville's Moby Dick.  Each is labeled with a chapter number. The first is the serious synopsis, and the second is my humorous take.  Enjoy!

Writing Exercise #3: Hoffacker Critical Edition

    Several months later, in the basement of my aunt’s and uncle’s house, I sit on the soft couch with the large, blue cushions beside my cousin Andrew¹.  He holds the game controller for the Nintendo 64² as he plays through the latest chapter in the Legend of Zelda³.  This isn’t a multiplayer game.  Andrew plays because it’s his game and he’s older, while I sit and watch.  We spend many afternoons this way.
    My legs dangle from the plushy seat cushion, and my feet barely touch the maroon carpet, covered in most places by old laundry, papers, VHS tapes⁴, golf bags, and dog hair.  The basement has a familiar smell, something musty but not foul.
    This room is nothing like my parents’ basement at home.  Sure, they both have laundry rooms, but my basement has water damage and a low ceiling, and it certainly doesn’t have a couch and a working television.  This basement is a safe haven for me and Andrew, where we can have fun without his parents or any of his four older siblings getting in our way.
    I hear the door to the basement open, and my eyes dart left to the creaking stairs.  Andrew’s sister Katie⁵, the dark-haired middle child, enters the room, kicking things out of her way as she walks to the laundry room⁶ and out of sight.
    When the argument starts, I have no idea what’s going on.  Katie confronts Andrew about something.  Beyond that, I’m lost.  I try to focus all of my attention on the screen, where I see that Andrew is still playing the game even as his sister talks to him and he talks back.
    Katie is the first one to raise her voice, and I cringe because I’m between them.  Andrew sits on the edge of his seat at my right.  Katie stands near the stairs to my left, getting closer as the argument gets more heated⁷.
    They yell louder and louder for a while, and I sink back into the couch as far as I can, which feels like not very far at all.  I suddenly become aware of how small the basement is.  Even with all the mess and junk piled up in storage, still there’s nowhere that I can hide.  So I try to shrink, try to disappear, but I only become aware of how big I am⁸.
    The shouting match rages on.  Every time Andrew finishes a statement, he turns right back to the television and keeps on playing his video game, as if the argument has just ended in his triumph.  At times he doesn’t even look up at his sister while he yells at her.
    Katie watches her little brother playing Nintendo until she gets fed up with it.  She marches a few steps forward, reaches for the game console, and yanks the power cord right out of it⁹.  The sound of the little, black machine running dissipates into silence, like a vacuum shutting off¹⁰.  The images on the screen turn to black in an instant.
    She turns about face and storms away, climbing the stairs with a stomp on each step.  Andrew drops the game controller¹¹ and leaps to his feet, shouting up at her, “You fucking bitch¹²!”  She doesn’t turn around or say anything more.

¹Hoffacker's cousin, Andrew Jansson, was a highly influential figure in his life, one whom he often credits with major influence on his sense of humor.
²This device is an electronic video game console, attached to the television by wires, popular in the late 1990's.
³This is a popular series of such video games released by the Nintendo entertainment corporation.
⁴Inserted into a device called a VCR, also connected to the television, these VHS (or Video Home System) tapes were used to play and record video programming.
⁵Unlike Andrew, Katie is a relation to whom Hoffacker largely severed ties, for reasons which remain unspoken throughout his memoirs and therefore mysterious.
⁶Suburban homes such as this one often had a room to house a washing machine and a dryer for the regular cleaning of household clothes.
⁷Tense, aggressive.
⁸Even throughout his childhood, Hoffacker was exceptionally tall, eventually standing over six feet four inches in adulthood.
⁹In order to operate, the video game console not only had to be plugged in to the television but also into an electrical outlet in the wall through another wire.
¹⁰A standard home vacuum cleaner was very loud while in use, and the sound would slowly diminish once it was shut off.
¹¹The interactive aspects of the video game were manipulated using a handheld device known as a "controller."
¹²Technically the term for a female canine, the word "bitch" was commonly used to refer to an assertive, rude, or otherwise impolite woman (or, in other cases, to anyone, even a male, in a subservient position to another, e.g., "He's my bitch").

Writing Exercise #2: Thank God It's Friday

The following passages are excerpts from Friday's journal, translated from Portuguese.

Dear Journal,

    Today I met my new master, who tells me that his name is Master. I've gotten a new name myself, for he calls me Friday. I quite like the name.

    I'm a servant to Master because I owe him my life.  I was in the hands of my captors, being garnished for the feast I was about to become, when I managed to slip from their grasp and make my escape.

    However, I wouldn't have survived the ordeal without the help of Master.  When two of my captors pursued me, he came to my aid and stopped them with a strange, long device like a stick that produces so much noise and smoke. By its power, the cannibals were knocked down, never to arise again.

    So I pledged my eternal servitude to Master, prostrating myself on the sand and placing his foot upon my head, for he can't understand my words. Next I proposed that we celebrate with a feast, for the carcasses of my former captors just lay on the ground rotting, but by this suggestion I fear that I angered Master. To appease him, I will no longer eat any man's flesh.

Dear Journal,

    As I learn more and more of Master's language, he has begun to teach me some very important things about the world. Master says that Benamuckee is not the the supreme ruler and creator of everything, as I've been led to believe. He says that really there is one called God.

    I have so many questions for Master about God, and I see to know all that Master knows, but I am still so limited in my ability to speak his language. I can only string together very few words, and I can't ask about all of the things which I am curious to learn.

    Based on Master's lessons, I am not sure of how different God is from our Benamuckee, except that Benamuckee lives at the top of a great mountain, while God lives up in the sky, above even the sun. Also, Master told me that God has a son named Jesus, and I've never heard of Benamuckee having any kin.

    Of course now I can believe nothing I've heard about Benamuckee. If Master speaks the truth about God, and I know he must for Master is my savior, then the Oowocakee must have been lying to us. What did they do there up on that mountain, if there was no Benamuckee to visit and venerate?

    Maybe they were not lying at all; maybe they are simply as ignorant as I was before Master shared with me the truth about God. I would like to discuss all this with Master, but I don't know the words and often he doesn't know how to interpret my signs. I can only hope that time will be my teacher, and someday Master and I will talk for many hours in his native tongue.

Dear Journal,

    Oh it's such a joyous day! I almost can't believe my good fortune. I've been reunited with my Father, who came to Master's shore in a boat, held captive in much the same way I arrived here.

    Master again overtook the cannibals, only this time with my aid in the rescue. Armed with Master's death sticks, we dispatched many of my former captors, rescuing not just a Spanish prisoner but also my dear father, whom I have not seen in so long and whose life I feared for.

    When Master called me to the boat and I laid eyes upon my father, alive and under no more threat, I was so ecstatic that I could hardly contain my joy. I held him tightly to my chest, kissed him upon his neck and shoulders, and released him only long enough to dance in celebration.

    I was so overcome with my happiness that I completely forgot Master's orders. However, when I turned to look at him, I could see that Master was quite pleased. He looked down upon me and my Father with a great smile, which was all the approval I needed to continue embracing my Father.

    I think that it can't be a coincidence that this great fortune has befallen me after Master taught me the truth about God. While Master slept, I have even prayed to God, sometimes thanking him for delivering me into Master's hands, for without him I would be as dead as all the cannibals on the beach. Other times I pleaded with God for a reunion such as this, and now there shall forever be no doubt in my mind of God's supreme power and Master's wisdom.

Dear Journal,

    Today we are going to leave this island and head for the mainland. I can see the ship slowly coming closer to the shore. It's a magnificent sight, larger than any ship I've seen in my life. It cuts through the ocean like Master's sword through goat flesh. I can hardly wait to see where it will take us.

    Master seems to be in such an odd mood. He spends most of his time pacing up and down the beach. At some moments he looks out to see, toward the ship coming to our rescue, but mostly he looks down at the sand, examining his footprints.

    Master has tried to tell me how long he has been on this island, but so far I fail to understand him when he talks of numbers and lengths of time. At least I have surmised that he arrived on this shore when he was a much younger man. I think he must be very excited to leave this place behind him, until it is not even a speck on the horizon, but he has a strange way of showing it.

    I do not show my excitement well either, for my thoughts are still with my Father. I wish that he were still with us here, ready to make the voyage to a new shore with us. I would be just as happy, too, if at least I knew what has become of him since Master and I saw him off and wished him well. Still, the incoming ship has renewed my confidence in our fates, and I know that my Father and I will meet again someday.

    Whenever I have doubt of this, I remember God who reunited us, and I say a little prayer to Him, asking that He will only do what he has already proved possible. And wherever this Spanish ships shall take us, I will stay by Master's side, because I know that my fortune would otherwise turn bad. Master gave me my own life when the cannibals tried to take it, and so I owe him a lifetime of servitude and friendship, and leaving the island does nothing to change that.

Writing Exercise #1: Burroughs in Defoe's Prose

My refulgent Book Shelves are lined with myriad Treasures: empty Cans, void of their original Labels, with their ribbed still Skins shining as I have polished them many Times over with Silver Polish, yet still how I wish they were made from Gold; I also have Rings collected there, Rings which I attained during my Family's Trip to Mexico when I was but five Years of Age; and there I keep my Images of extravagant Jewelery, which I have clipp'd from various Periodicals and stuck to light Boards and propp'd up right; and I possess a good Spoon taken from the Sterling Silver which my Grandmother had send to my Parents when they were wedded, although my Mother openly admonishes that Silver, calling it God-awfully tacky; and lastly a minute Collection of Reales, Pieces of Eight, and Gold Escudos, that all I have boiled and polished with that same Silver Polish while watching the gently wafty Sea from out my Window.