Biblical metaphors.

You know what's really interesting?  Viewing the bible, not as a literal and historical account of anything, or even as a god-breathed work intended to teach a group of people how to live, but as a literary metaphor for a major change in humankind.

There are major differences between the old and new testaments.  I think of it in terms of power, though.  In communing with god in the old testament, all communing had to be done through sacrifices and through a prophet - no regular person could commune with god by him or herself unless ordained by god to do so.  Since government and religion were quite literally inseparable, this meant that exclusive power lay in the hands of the person (man) who could commune with god.  Similarly, the power that the individual held was nearly nothing.  He or she could not commune with god without a medium of some sort, and therefore, alone, each person holds little to no power.  This results in, I think, a de-valuing of individual human life.  That which holds no power is weak, and weak things tend to be weeded out by natural selection, one way or another.

This is illustrated, in my opinion, by the overall violence and, by standard scruples, lack of respect and value for individual human lives.  We look at something like stoning children for being insubordinate to parents and we don't see biblical justice, we see child abuse and murder.  Mass war, genocide, glorification of violence - all traits of the old testament - hold less impact in a society where the life of the individual does not matter as much.

But, come to the new testament, and you see a radical change in the beliefs taught.  Suddenly, communing with god is no longer a distant spiritual language spoken only by the chosen, but god is "personal" through jesus.  The individual is handed the power to commune with god, both figuratively in theology and literally in jesus' interactions with the people of his age.  The power of the gospels is founded in jesus' empowerment of "the least of these," effectively granting the powerless power, and in that respect, value.  The individual is made important.

Now take a look at our society in the US.  I have some friends who are diabetic.  In a biblical time, a person may have been able to survive as diabetic by learning, by trial and error, how to regulate his or her diet.  These days, thanks to advances in medicine, diabetes, along with a slew of other health issues, are considered treatable and completely livable.  Blindness.  Down Syndrome.  Deafness.  Hemophilia.  We live in a society that completely violates social darwinism in favor of value for the individual.

So what was the message?  God has sent his only begotten son so that anyone who should believe in him will not perish, but shall have eternal life?  Maybe that's a metaphor for the value of human life.  Anyone means The Individual carries value now.  It means that genocide is no longer acceptable, and it means that killing one to save many carries much more weight than it used to.  It means that it's not acceptable to terrorize anyone in the name of religion.  It means that the life of a serial rapist still holds inherent value, despite the crimes he committed.  It means that slavery is not okay, under any circumstances. It means picketing the funeral of a gay soldier is not okay.   It means it's not okay to commit infanticide because a child is born with Downs.

Thoughts.

Meta-Narrative

Listen.  The cynic in me knows that there is no narrative.  Narrative is like events, and events only exist in retrospect.  Our minds cannot process constant, unprioritized time.  We use the concept of events to create an informational hierarchy and divide our past experiences into those things that matter and those that don't. 

Hindsight is 20-20.  Our position currently allows us the retrospective distance to reflect on our past and divide it up into events and experiences.  Our creative minds, born from evolutionary necessity, find patterns, draw conclusions, and make assumptions based on our biology, rational minds, emotions, and social structure, and these events and experiences form a narrative. 

There is no meta-narrative.  There is no narrative beyond what we impose for our own processing.  Cue Sartre's eyeroll and sigh.  Duh, he says.  That's what I said the whole 20th century. 


















I'm going to say something, not because I believe, but because I want to, and might, believe it.  Maybe by the end, I will believe it. 

Does this make the narrative less valuable?  We have this concept that "real" things matter and "fake" things don't, but what qualifies as real in this instance?  Because the universe doesn't have a narrative tattooed into it's matter, does that make our imposed narrative less real?  Our narrative is like time.  Time doesn't exist beyond what we impose. 

I am drawn to story because it takes life and condenses it into an arc with a distinguishable start and end.  Maybe it's not so much that there is no narrative to life - it's that we cannot distinguish narrative when we experience it, when it is being created as it is lived.  Perhaps that's why there have been no novels about one year of a person's life that take a full year to read.  Why read that story?  You're already living it. 



Perhaps I am drawn toward narrative because it allows me to impose a sense of story to my own experiences.  Part of it, I'm sure, is my biological imperative.  I think part of it is emotional imperative too.  Things make so much more sense when you can see them laid out in a series of chapters or episodes.  We can process the emotional responses, and then while the emotions are still fresh, experience the catharsis.  Not so much in reality.  Resolution that in a book takes 200 pages can take 10 years in reality.  There's too much sensory input in ten years for our minds to keep emotions fresh that long.  Our neurological pathways need refreshing.  Hence, story.  Narrative. 

I feel my neurological pathways firing.  My amygdala is in overdrive.  When I experience a narrative, it gives me the presence of mind to reflect on my own experiences, and see my own narrative.  Imposed narrative, perhaps - but, in a sense, even more real for that fact.  It's our minds using a metaphor to process an inconceivable amount of information.  It's me learning to relive emotions and memories long forgotten or stale.  It's an opportunity to learn from my own experiences so that the narrative that will continue to be written is one I will be glad to experience when next I reflect.  



Hey, that totally worked.  I'm pretty sure I believe that now.  

On days when all I see online are furious posts about Syria, obscenely sexist family dynamics, and generally shitty things, I'll try to find solace, and I'll try to release my anger and find some peace.  And I'll listed to death metal. 

"One time, as the cold wind blew and she kept watch over the playground, Aomame realized she believed in God.  It was a sudden discovery, like finding, with the soles of your feet, solid ground beneath the mud.  It was a mysterious sensation, an unexpected awareness.  Ever since she could remember, she had always hated this thing called God.  More precisely, she rejected the people and the system that intervened between her and God.  For years, she had equated those people and that system with God.  Hating them meant hating God.

Since the moment she was born, they had been near her, controlling her, ordering her around, all in the name of God, driving her into a corner.  In the name of God, they stole her time and her freedom, putting shackles on her heart.  They preached about God's kindness, but preached twice as much about his wrath and intolerance.  At age eleven, Aomame made up her mind and was ultimately able to break free from that world.  In doing so, though, much had been sacrificed.

If God didn't exist, then how much bright my life would be, how much richer.  Aomame often thought this.  Then she should be able to share all the beautiful memories that normal children had, without the constant anger and fear that tormented her.  And then how much more positive, peaceful, and fulfilling her life might be.

Despite all this, as she sat there, her palm resting on her belly, peeking through the slats of the plastic boards at the deserted playground, she couldn't help but come to the realization that she belived in God.  When she had mechanically repeated the words of the prayer, when she brought her hands together, she had believed in a God outside the conscious realm.  It was a feeling that had seeped into her marrow, something that could not be driven away by logic or emotion.  Even hatred and anger couldn't erase it. 

But this isn't their God, she decided.  It's my God.  This is a God I have found through sacrificing my own life, through my flesh being cut, my skin ripped off, my blood sucked away, my nails torn, all my time and hopes and memories being stolen from me.  This is not a God with form.  No white clothes, no long beard.  This God has no doctrine, no scripture, no precepts.  NO reward, no punishment.  This God doesn't give, and doesn't take away.  There is no heaven up in the sky, no hell down below.  When it's hot, and when it's cold, God is simply there.

...

Aomame pondered the idea of God.  God has no form, yet is able to take on any form.  The image she had was of a streamlined Mercedes coupe, a brand-new car just delivered from the dealer.  An elegant, middle-aged woman coming out of that car, in the middle of an expressway running through the city, offering her beautiful spring coat to the naked Aomame.  To protect her from the chilly wind, and people's rude stares.  And then without a word, getting back in her silver coupe."


Haruki Murakami, "1Q84" 

Writer's circle

My internal struggle:

Me: You should write some scifi or fantasy.  You read lots of that
Other Me: No way, dude.  I couldn't write that stuff
Me: Why not?
Other Me: My writing sucks
Me: Nuh uh
Other Me: Of course I don't think it sucks.  Don't you remember creative writing?  THAT'S HOW YOU KNOW IT SUCKS
Me: Okay, it sucks.  You should write it anyways.
Other Me: But scifi and fantasy already has so much really awful shit.
Me: So how much worse can yours be?
Other Me: ....goddamit.

"Even as I spin this web I am reaching for my phone. I call someone, not a doctor or a sage, not a mystic or a physician, just a bloke like me — another alcoholic, who I know knows how I feel. The phone rings and I half hope he’ll just let it ring out. It’s 4a.m. in London. He’s asleep, he can’t hear the phone, he won’t pick up. I indicate left, heading to Santa Monica. The ringing stops, then the dry-mouthed nocturnal mumble:

‘Hello. You all right, mate?’

He picked up. And for another day, thank God, I don’t have to."


Pretty incredible.

http://www.spectator.co.uk/features/8857821/fixing-a-hole/

Bioshock

Bioshock does what its name states.  It shocks us with a twisted, warped version of life - bio - through a science-fiction, steampunk lens.  It takes things we value you, like infanthood and parenthood, and warps it by giving us a woman singing a lullaby to a handgun in a stroller.  It gives us what-if scenarios, like what would happen if objectivism was to be made into the government of a city, or what would the US look like if racism hadn't been abolished.  You watch yourself descend into moral depravity to stop the moral depravity of another man.  What's the difference? 

Spoilers, y'all.  

No, seriously.  I'm gonna spoil the whole damn thing.  Stop reading and go play.  

If you aren't gonna play, then don't bother reading either.  Instead, go play anyways.  

I read an interesting article that was pointing out the similarities between Bioshock 1 and rapture with Bioshock: Infinite and Columbia - which, of course, makes sense, since the whole multiverse theory sets up for the two to be intertwined.  What the article noted was that the main character in Bioshock 1 is a clone of Andrew Ryan, and in Infinite, you are literally the same person as Comstock. 

I find it interesting that this theory pervades the Bioshock franchise (full disclosure - I never played Bioshock II).  One of the distinct things about 1 and Infinite, though, is the extreme violence going on.  You are forced, in order to stop the depraved acts of a psychopath, to perform depraved acts of psychopathy, against a character who is literally yourself.  Talk about subjectivism.  In Bioshock 1, it's easier to discern the line between good and evil - save the little sisters, and you fall, marginally, on the high moral ground.  But in Infinite...ah.  There is no such distinction.  

It's a fun game.  The mechanics are pretty awesome.  But the story is where it is at.  There's nothing quite like listening to a choral version of "Will The Circle Be Unbroken" while your daughter drowns you.  It's heartbreaking. 

Cynicism

There are times when groupthink literally makes me sick to my stomach.  When I listen to honest, good intending people speak, and I feel my stomach turn in revulsion.  Facebook posts that are all hashtags.  Boy bands.  Christianese - especially christianese.  There is nothing inherently wrong with these things; I just don't like them.  But when I'm around them...I feel the need to detox.  And I detox with brutal metal.  I guess I feel like it gets the disgusting feeling of the inconsequential off of me.  I get sick of conversation that coats me like shrink wrap.

When I go to church, I go there for the theology.  But I still feel the need to wash the christian off of me with Dying Fetus or Cryptopsy.  Like bleeding a festering wound.

"There’s no guilt in mental illness because depression is a kind of cancer that attacks the mind. You don’t shame cancer, you treat cancer."

Pretty cool.  dat link

A prisoner's prayer.

A prisoner's prayer:

"I pray where I am, sitting by the window, looking out through the curtain at the empty garden.  I don't even close my eyes.  Out there or inside my head, it's an equal darkness.  or light.

My God.  Who Art in the Kingdom of Heaven, which is within.

I wish you would tell me Your Name, the real one I mean.  But You will do as well as anything.

I wish I knew what You were up to.  But whatever it is, help me to get through it, please.  Though maybe it's not Your doing; I don't believe for an instant that what's going on out there is what You meant.

I have enough daily bread, so I won't waste time on that.  It isn't the main problem.  The problem is getting it down without choking on it.

Now we come to forgiveness.  Don't worry about forgiving me right now.  There are more importance things.  For instance: keep the others safe, if they are safe.  Don't le them suffer too much.  If they have to die, let it be fast.  You might even provide a Heaven for them.  We need You for that.  hell we can make for ourselves.

I suppose I should say I forgive whoever did this, and whatever they're doing now.  I'll try, but it isn't easy.

Temptation comes next.  At the Center, temptation was anything much more than eating and sleeping.  Knowing was a temptation.  What you don't know won't tempt you, Aunt Lydia used to say.

Maybe I don't really want to know what's going on.  Maybe I'd rather not know.  Maybe I couldn't bear to know.  The Fall was a fall from innocence to knowledge.

I think about the chandelier too much, though it's gone now.  But you could use a hook, in the closet.  I've considered the possibilities.  All you'd have to do, after attaching yourself, would be to lean your weight forward and not fight.

Deliver us from evil.

Then there's Kingdom, power, and glory.  It takes a lot to believe in those right now.  But I'll try anyways.  In Hope, as they say on the gravestones.

You must feel pretty ripped off.  I guess it's not the first time.

If I were You, I'd be fed up.  I'd be really sick of it.  I guess that's the difference between us.

I feel very unreal, talking to You like this.  I feel as if I'm talking to a wall.  I wish You'd answer.  I feel so alone.

All alone by the telephone.  Except I can't use the telephone.  And if I could, who could I call?

Oh God.  It's no joke.  Oh God oh God.  How can I keep on living?"

- The Handmaid's Tale

limp

Thrice's lyricism is telling tonight: "I am an exile, a sojourner - a citizen of some other place."

Where am I an exile?  Probably the church.  Few things are more offputting.  Few places evoke more intense and contradictory emotions in me.

I can hear the voice inside my head, still - the one that told me long ago that a little doubt is good, but a lot is dangerous.  I still remember sitting in the basement of Life Bible, explaining - or trying to explain, rather - why I wanted to walk away from everything.  Because you can't walk away from something that universal, that true for long.  It catches up with you.  And if your eyes are open, eventually, you don't have a choice but to see.  So walk away.  It doesn't matter.

But here's the deal: biblically, it isn't just those with Job-like faith who are honored and blessed.  You wish things were that clear-cut.

I hate that I grew up thinking of the apostle Thomas as a failure.

Jacob was alone in the desert, and he was assaulted by god.  And he fought.  And he won.  In fact, god turned the tables by dislocating his hip with god-powers.  And Jacob's name was changed to Israel, the one who struggles with god, the name of a nation who - undoubtedly - has a rich history of struggling with god.  And the newly named Israel walked with the limp for all of his days.

I'd rather carry the scars of fighting tooth and nail with god than wear a badge of unshaken faith.  I'd rather walk with a spiritual limp and be forced to encounter the divine so personally that the only word left is Penial - for I have seen god face to face, and yet my life is preserved.

You can shove your "lukewarm" accusation

Rachel has kind words for us, cynics. 



There is nothing lukewarm about being an easter-and-christmas churchgoer with a heart full of questions.  How dare you call us salad-bar christians. 

Rape Culture

The irony is that rape culture, as is touted by furious feminists netwide at the moment, is incredibly unfair to everyone.

It's unfair to people who haven't been raped - because it teaches, not to eliminate rape, but avoid it and leave it for someone else.

It's unfair to people who have been raped - because it teaches victim blame.  Repulsive.  There are no other words for that.  Don't do it.

It's unfair to people who haven't raped anyone - because it creates an unfair fear in people of (almost exclusively) men who have done nothing to provoke the fear.

Here's the weird one:

It's unfair to rapists - because it teaches that you are inhuman, incapable of self-control, and unchangeable.  That's not cool either.  You're a person.



You see, I think the defenders of rape culture - the victim blamers, mostly - are reacting out of fear.  This is because, if a victim blamer recognizes rape as the complete responsibility of the rapist, it forces him or her to also recognize the dichotomy of their characterization of the rapist.

If rape is the fault solely of the rapist, it is an unacceptable event.  In our black-and-white, justice-craving minds, it's the equivalent of murdering an innocent.  But if the victim "deserves" the act (god, I feel nasty just typing that), then it is excusable in the same manner that Liam Neeson killing dozens of terrorists is acceptable.  After all, they deserved it.  So naturally, the scared mind defaults to victim blame, so as to not have to face the fact that rape is really fucked up.

There's more to it, though.

Rapist: you are a person.  Not a horrible monster.  You may have done horribly monstrous things.   We all do monstrous things.  They are not excusable.  You need to be held accountable, particularly when those monstrous things hurt others.  But you aren't a monster.  Statistically, you're not even a deviant.  How crazy is that. 



I am more likely to feel identity with the rapist than I am the victim.  I've never been raped.  I was raised in that very rape culture that told me all men think about is sex and no man can control himself if she is "asking for it" (again, vomiting in my mouth).  Dear rapist: I know you.  I understand you.  According to rape culture, we're the same person.

And I get it, too.  Power is sexy.  I've read a lot of statistics stating that rape fantasy is one of the most common sexual fetishes, both for men and women.  BDSM has an entire world of healthy, erotic sex centered around consensual non-consent.  I'm not surprised in the slightest that rape happens, because sex is about power, and complete power exchange can be really, really hot.

But non-consensual power exchange is scarring, in all situations, for all parties involved.  That's why a person may never drive their motorcycle again, long after the wounds have healed, and that's why a rapist, repulsed by his behavior, is so goddamn likely to do it again.  True power, and true powerlessness, are poison. 




Stop being afraid.  Want to end rape culture?  Recognize the power that power has.  Don't contribute to the cowardice that is victim blaming - that's a red herring from the real problem.  The real problem exists at a much deeper level, because both the victims and rapists are your brothers and sisters.  These aren't deviants and sociopaths exclusively.  Some of them are loving fathers or sad coworkers.  And to blame the victim - to blame these terrible, awful decisions on someone who had no choice, by definition - is to not only attack and scar the victim, who has already been so hurt, but also is to turn the rapist into an enigma instead of a person.  An enigma has neither responsibility nor potential for forgiveness or change.  You condemn a rapist to be a rapist forever.

Old post

I found this sitting in my blog drafts:

Every once in a while, I'm staggered by a recognition that I live my life in a state of delusion.  The closer things are to you, the easier it is to forget them.  Like my glasses.  I don't even see them in front of my face anymore.

I have a good paying job at 23 years old doing something I enjoy.

But more obscure.

The new testament was mostly written by genocidal religious zealot.  A reformed zealot, but a zealot nonetheless.  I think that's why paul had a clearer grasp on things.  He came from the outside first.  If I ever decide I'm a christian again, I will tell my children to abandon their faith so they can come back to it on their own.

Will you make us stronger when you strike us down? 

Darwin

Who are you?  I wonder.

I haven't been here in a while.  I've wanted to be, a couple times, but I was afraid that my review of Rachel's book wasn't good enough.  I started a review like ten times, but all I could muster was what I wrote before.  Go read her book.  It's honest, and a little too christian for my taste.  Even though she was wearing such conservative clothes, she was naked on those pages, and for that, Rachel deserves the respect of an amazing review.  I don't have one, so just read her fucking book and make your own decision.  My ethos will have to carry this review.  Woman of valor.

Who are you?  Nature, or nurture?  Are you a slave to your genetics, or to your upbringing?  Philosophy 101.  Religion 101.  Economics 101.  Why am I back here?

Because someone reminded me of the same thing that Jean Paul Sartre reminded me of in his essay "Existentialism is a Humanism": stop being a fucking coward, and make your own decisions.

Tonight, I was discussing with a friend why a statement was sexist.  He said the nature of women was a certain way.  I said, no it isn't.  He said, yes it is.  I said, no it isn't.

Esther says, who the fuck cares what the nature of women is?

Look at this.  Try not to be amazed.  Actually, just go ahead and bust out the Depends, because if you're like me, if you're someone who spends so much time wondering about nature, you're just gonna shit yourself:

"How our bodies are formed doesn't rule what we do and how well we do things. It can help or hinder at times, and we don't follow nature. We dont run on our innate animalistic instincts. We are self aware. We control our impulses. Doesn't nature say make a shit ton of babies? That doesn't mean we should all shit out babies one after the other. But thats the whole point of basically everything alive: make more of itself or beings that are similar to itself. Thats what living beings are "programed" to do. But, so what? We dont think of that as our lives. The fact that we can think of that means we can decide. So we get to decide it. How our lives will be." 

What do you even say to something like this?  Look here: religious people are all hung up on how everybody should be.  Should be straight, should be white, should be not-murderers.  And this is so often backed up by the argument, "well that's how people should naturally be."  Women naturally want to be submissive in the bedroom.  Men naturally want to rape scantily clad ladies.  It's just nature.  It's not our fault.

Just as often: sin "nature."  People naturally lie.  We naturally want to reproduce.  We naturally kill each other.




I know this sounds weird, but Sartre said, the freedom, the beauty of realizing there is no god, of realizing there is no reason for existence, is the recognition that it is our responsibility, not only to ourselves, but to every man, woman, and child in the world, to create our own reason for existing.

That's why Camus' Stranger suddenly didn't want to die.  

Esther isn't saying quite the same thing.  But she is saying something close, right there.  We don't think of mere continuation of the species as our lives.  We get to decide how our lives will be.


You can stick your nature right up your goddamn asshole.  I'd rather embrace that my nature is not my identity.  Neither god nor biology determine the next decision I will make.



It's not nature vs. nurture.  It's nature/nurture vs. make your own decisions.  I know it's not that cut and dry. Let me have my fantasy of black and white lines.

We approach the absurd, asymptotically.  We cling to our pitiful centers, praying that the gravitational pull will swing us into some sort of moral orbit.  We gravitate towards planets with names like Satan and Descartes, but we're just adrift.  And every one of us seeks orbit.  But we're all so lost.  Spacejunk. Beautiful, desperate, spacejunk.