Jorge Luis Borges’ narrator is a Chinaman with a lack of self-esteem. Dr. Yu Tsun is from a once-great Chinese family that has fallen into obscurity and shame because of the mad ramblings of his ancestor Ts’ui Pên. The narrator’s main source of motivation is to prove that his actions matter — that he can do great things. He is a spy for the German Reich during World War I, and his dream is to overcome his own obscurity in the eyes of his German masters. His obsession takes the literal form of an English captain: the appropriately named Richard Madden. Madden pursues Yu Tsun like a madness, perhaps forcing the narrator’s decisions throughout the story. The story ends with an ultimate irony: Yu Tsun must kill the man who has decoded his ancestor’s novel. He makes the choice to fulfill his mission and allegiance to the Germans rather than to restore his family’s name and honor the man who did it. Here, the political vision of a government at war supersedes an individual’s own artistic sensibilities and his family honor. Dr. Yu Tsun remains pathetically insignificant, a pawn of others’ dreams.

One of the aspects of Arthur C. Clarke’s thinking is that he always includes a world beyond the real. That is, while he is a man of science and reason, he does not limit his vision to only what can be seen and measured. There is always a sense of something beyond the surface in Clarke’s work, and often it’s technology and scientific progress that reveals it. Science itself is not the answer for Clarke, but it can — often inadvertently — lead us to the beyond. This is true for both “Names” and “The Star.” Both juxtapose religious belief with science and technology. Both stories have Twilight-Zone endings — neither of which I’ll ruin here — but Clarke links scientific reality with religious truth in interesting and surprising ways. In “Names,” the computer becomes key in decoding religious belief. Rather than being the enemy of religion, here science provides the mechanism for making religious belief real: the computer joins these two seemingly disparate ideas. In “The Star,” a Jesuit scientist’s faith is shaken by a literal journey to another star. Can a religion created on Earth survive the vastness of space? Can our minds remain small while our bodies travel into infinity?

I’ve written about William Gibson’s vision in “The Gernsback Continuum” before. This story deals with the collective dreams of the past manifesting a new reality in the present through the perceptions of the narrator. Gibson’s story posits many questions. When do dreams become tyrannical, draconian, and nightmarish? How much reinforcement does an idea take before it begins changing reality? Or, do our dreams spare us from the multiplicity of too much reality and choice? How much room is there for choice in this world? Borges seems to be interested in the same question. Whenever we make a choice, we create reality by closing off possibilities. However, quantum mechanics suggests that in another reality, we make the other choice, thereby splitting the possible from the real and ultimately creating a livable reality. What if we were able to break through to the possible, and it was able to travel through the rupture into our real?

Isn’t this what fiction’s about? We want our reality to be safe and predictable, so we tend to make the choices that we hope will lead to that outcome. Fiction provides us with the playground for examining the possible, the absurd, the terrifying. In contrast, fiction allows us to wander through the labyrinth, choose various paths, and come safely back. Right?

Well, one might also argue that a journey through fiction’s garden leaves our reality altered. Ideas can be dangerous, literally changing our views of the world around us. Are there ideas so powerful that they can irrevocably disrupt our world? We see this all the time, no? What happens when truth becomes Truth? How far are will we go to convince people of the Dream, meanwhile smashing their dreams?

Too many choices can be as frightening as too few. In a universe of possibilities, perhaps it’s a necessity that we limit ourselves to “a single wavelength of probability,” as Gibson’s narrator suggests. Maybe our brains can’t handle reality that’s too diverse, too rich? Maybe it’s a limit of our brains to think in binaries, blacks and whites, rights and wrongs? Or maybe bowing to simple perceptions of the universe will only enslave us to others’ Truth and keep us from progressing? Is there a middle ground?

The son of God is to blame for people’s suffering. The reason? Freedom. Jesus gave them the bread of heaven when they were hungry for earthly bread. Jesus allowed them to choose for themselves, rather than prove that he was the son of God. Jesus refused to be the literal king of the world, and instead died so that people could be saved, at least in the afterlife. In all of these decisions, argues the GI, Jesus was wrong.

That is why the GI has twisted Jesus’ message in order to give people what they really want: and end to their freedom. The GI posits that there is nothing more antithetical to human happiness than freedom:

The GI asks: “You promised them heavenly bread, but, I repeat again, can it compare with earthly bread in the eyes of the weak, eternally depraved, and eternally ignoble human race? . . . Oh, never, never will they feed themselves without us!” Humans, given too much freedom will gladly lay that freedom down at the feet of those who are strong enough to offer them real authority, or earthly bread. Humans are too stupid, weak, and fearful to choose for themselves — they must be told what to do with commandments, dicta, laws. They cannot be allowed to choose the wrong course, because they inevitably will.

The GI believes that what he does is actually beneficial for the weak, depraved, ignoble human race. He is the benevolent theocrat giving to the people what their God refused to: “Judge us if you can or dare.”

There is a militarism present in the GI’s reproach, too. He states that while Jesus refused to rule the kingdoms of the world, the leaders of the church did not: “we took Rome and the sword of Caesar from him, and proclaimed ourselves sole rulers of the earth, the only rulers, through we have not yet succeeded in bringing our cause to its full conclusion.” The implication is that their war against the weak, depraved, ignoble human race is only just beginning. Their war against freedom, choice, and heavenly bread will continue in a guise of the church. The GI’s church, therefore, works against all the interests of Jesus and the Christian God.

While Ivan’s “poem” takes place in sixteenth century Europe, it is, perhaps, even more germane to certain religious and political attitudes in today’s America. Notice science is implicated in the GI’s speech blockquoted above. Science involves reason, what the Enlightenment thinkers believed emanated from God, bringing us closer to His mind through the empirical observation of His creation. Science dispels the darkness, and it can potentially answer the questions about the mysteries of the universe. Yet, science is often anathematized as a product of Satan; how can facts be evil? They are evil when they allow you to turn away from the righteous path — that set out by the GI. Facts mean little to nothing anymore in this country, just interpretations of an “elite” class.

How much of America is plagued by contemporary inquisitors? I often see the right attempting to demonize Obama in this way. After all, as Dostoyevsky’s piece warns, the GI is not far from the political realities of fascism in the twentieth century. Isn’t Obama trying to “cram” health care reform “down the throats” of the American people who don’t want it? Isn’t he trying to bankrupt an already tenuous economy by pushing for environmentally conscious policies and programs? Isn’t he really a Muslim pretending to be a Christian? A Kenyan pretending to be an American? The Devil pretending to be God?

Fascism was a political structure that enamored many of the intellectual elite at the beginning of the twentieth century. Could Obama be falling for the same ideas: that a benevolent ruler might call for a sacrifice of some freedom for the security that we crave? Does he have the best interests of America in mind, or does he have visions of auto de fé?

When economics seems to be the bottom line of “America,” I get wary. I think that Obama is trying to make some progressive social and, therefore, moral changes to this country, but his opposition is awesome. The same folks who claim to be faithful seem to be the same ones arguing against health care reform. The same folks who seem to have enough money to purchase whatever health care they desire seem to be the ones who don’t want us, the middle class, to have it. It’s like there’s a club here in ’Merica that some folks are protecting with the rhetoric of morality and economics, no matter what it costs. It’s not their souls at stake, but their pocketbooks.

We suffered though eight dark years of lies, jingoism, self-righteousness, immorality, fear, mistrust, thoughtlessness, ineptitude, and holy war. And I’m afraid that the GI might be right. Obama hasn’t had a chance, but folks are already screaming for the return of the right: “Feed us, for those who promised fire from heaven did not give it.” I hope that’s not true, yet the Democrats can’t seem to get their shit together. People are getting impatient. The Teabaggers are getting louder. The right seems to be regrouping. Though currently all they need to do is resist. Nancy Reagan’s “Just Say No” seems to have become the slogan for today’s Republican Party.

Perhaps the elephant should be replaced by a frowning Grand Inquisitor. Those who scream loudest about freedom seem to be the ones who want to take it away from us. I vote for more miracle and mystery, but less authority.

Yesterday, in my New Media seminar, we began talking — perhaps a bit off-topic — about how the media has made debates out of issues that are not actively debated by those coming from the same premises. Indeed, if you are to ever have a meaningful discussion that actually goes somewhere, you must start at an agreed-upon location. For example, the scientific community does not debate evolution and global climate change — currently two big controversial topics in the media. Science sees truth from without — something to be observed, measured, calculated, quantified, and reported. If the observations reported by one scientist can be replicated by the community, it becomes a theory. A scientific theory is another word for “local truth.” What a theory states is that all evidence here and now point to this conclusion.

Other truths come from within, like religious truths. As an anti-theist, I do not believe in the reality of these truths, but I do see their power and presence is others’ lives. In fact, it seems like religious truths do more damage to us as human beings than they help. This is not to say that I dislike religious people: I know and admire many people who consider themselves devout. But, to my point. Religious truths, or “faith,” or “belief,” comes from within. These beliefs are usually called Truths by the faithful — they are rules and dicta given by God, never to be questioned, only followed. You know, like commandments.

So when religious Truth and scientific truth seem to be discussing the same thing, they really aren’t because they don’t starting from the same premise. The scientific community does not doubt the billions of pieces of evidence that supports evolution and are therefore not arguing about it. But a religious conviction — stemming from their investment in a particular world view — makes them cloak their creation narrative into a pseudo-scientific sounding approach — Creationism or Intelligent Design — in order to dupe the general public into believing that creation myths hold the same scientific weight as evolution.

And the twenty-four-hour news media falls right into their hands. You gotta fill 24 hours with something.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m a student of literature, so I’m a proponent of narrative, and mythology fascinates me. Stories contain the essence of who we are and who aspire to be, but I don’t think there’s anything intrinsically universal about a narrative. Stories, like science, are situated in a particular place and time — and they always speak to us from there and then. We might, like the Poet asks the Muse, to sing it to us for our time, but we must keep in mind the local hopes and dreams from which narratives flow. Narrative is about translating reality into our language — about explaining the universe around us and how we fit into it.

Both science and religion, therefore, have the same goal. They just begin from a different place. Both narratives are valid, but they shouldn’t pretend to be what they’re not.

Another example of confused narratives is global warming. The theory of global warming is simple: we humans, by rapidly burning fossil fuels, release an excess of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere which acts as a greenhouse, trapping excess heat and raising the earth’s global mean temperature. The goal: find out why the world is getting hotter. Science explains it’s because our technologically driven society unearths and burns all the carbon that the earth has buried in the ground over millions of years. The rapid release of carbon dioxide is warming the planet: more carbon dioxide in the atmosphere means higher mean global temperatures.

The other narrative claims that global warming is not caused by the rapid burning of fossil fuels — that global temperature change is a naturally occuring phenomenon. Again, this is an invented narrative — one that is not part of the scientific discourse on global warming — but one that has entered the public media space as a viable and logical counterpoint to the facts. One based on faith, if you will. The consequences range from sad to sadder.

Several years ago, I had a discussion with Mr. Al (that’s what my wife calls him), a local friend of my wife’s family. Mr. Al suggested that he and I meet to discuss ways that I might win over Autumn’s father. While the bulk of this story is one for another blog, Mr. Al told me about the time that Jesus appeared to him in his truck. If I remember correctly, Mr. Al was having profound doubts about his Christian faith, and he was driving down a country road in the middle of a moral crisis. It was a stormy day, but suddenly the clouds broke, and a ray of sunshine seemed to shower his truck with heavenly light. Mr. Al noticed that Jesus sat next to him in the passenger’s seat. Mr. Al stoped the truck, and Jesus told him not to veer from the path. “Since that day,” Mr. Al waved some cancelled checks in his hand, “I have given as much as I can to the church.” The checks did have pretty sizable sums printed on them. Mr. Al has done well for himself. And Jesus.

The point of the lesson was clear: his investment in this narrative is extensive. One does not just walk away from such a huge outpouring of venture capital.

Our investment in our way of life is important. Our economy thrives on the burning of fossil fuels, and those who have controlled the means are not willing to consider alternatives. So let’s muddle the debate, mix our metaphors, just say no.

But, Jerry, you started this entry talking about how cold it is and you end with global warming? In fact, this is the coldest winter I remember. Well?

Hm, that is weird. Brrr.

Seriously. It seems that only narratives about belief and faith get anywhere in this country these days. Facts are irrelevant — too pedestrian. Loud opinion is king, and my don’t we have plenty of it to go around? Not only do we like opinions, but we seem to relish uninformed, indignant, rude, and freakin’ loud! opinions even more, like pigs to the trough. Most of our current debates center around these types of beliefs, too. Yes, heath care is a very real problem, but it isn’t the fact of the problem that people care about, it’s the belief (a mystical flavor of opinion) about it that gets everyone so riled. You know, like religious belief.

My religion would be based around technology, more specifically computer technology. There’s already a Cult of Mac, but “cult” is such a pejorative term. I vote we make it into a full-fledged religion with all the concomitant benefits — and I’m not just talking about the material and economic ones. The narratives are already in place. We could make Apple the thing we worship, and Microsoft could be Satan and all his demonic horde. The particulars can be worked out later, and they’re not really that important. In fact, we could just as easily have chosen M$ as the entity most proper for our thoughtless devotion, but since I’m a Mac user, I’ve made Apple the arbitrary bestowers of goodness and light, and M$ the damned and execrable purveyors of sins most foul. Who is good is not really the point.

The Apple commercials are already allegorical. We have the Mac as the angel on your left shoulder and PC as the demon on your right. Who would you listen to? Justin Long is kind of a winy and right millennial, but John Hodgman‘s evil peecee commands my sympathy with his wry pathos. Apple’s marketing goons have done a great job with the complexity of this choice, like a medieval allegorist. Which will we choose? Well, ultimately there is no choice: we must go with the Mac if we are to achieve computing nirvana, even though its representative is as exciting as a latex-coated bible, and to me not really representative of of the holy OS.

Anyway, a new Apple religion. This is not because Apple deserves to be worshipped, but it does make sense that we’d choose a corporation to venerate in this country today. We love our stuff, and corporations know how to sell it to us. They’re like the pastor passing around the donation plate before communion, and we’re the obedient parishioners smiling while we give ten percent of our income to God before we’re rewarded with a snack. This is about right, too, if we take into consideration the computers at home, in the office, the iPods, service, upgrades, support devices, entertainment appliances, iTunes purchases. . . Ten percent might be conservative.

Still, I’m interested in the what religion signifies in this country above all of these other matters. I want to end the persecution. I want people to treat me and my choices as if they really mattered. You know, like we do for Christians. Religion is not up for debate. It’s not up for discrimination. It’s not up for rational thought. It’s about belief. I want the respect given to religion, say, by businesses and politicians. They don’t even have to understand why I have chosen to use a Mac; why I have chosen to shun Microsoft. They just need to support that decision, like they do, say, Christmas. You don’t ask questions about Xmas, do you? It’s America’s holiest corporate Christian holiday. How dare you!? You must be one of those Marxist Communists.

It’s really not so much to ask. There will be no pogroms to end Microsoft’s monopoly of the computer industry. In fact, they may still wipe us believers off the face of the digital planet. That day would be like Pope’s “universal darkness,” and I certainly hope it doesn’t come to that. Yet, the place where I work is discriminating against my religion by trying to marginalize Mac users and end their support of our platform on their network. They are not friendly toward our technological choices and would sleep much better if we would just go away. Ask them. We are just a nuisance to them, like a small band of believers were to Rome about 2000 years ago.

You don’t have to agree with me. In fact, I’m pretty sure you don’t. We are used to the discrimination of Applists, or should that be Macists? (I think I like the latter, since it sounds like Marxists, and you know that scares the shit out of people, even though they have no idea what it means.) For you non-believers, I will end with a final question: “What computer would Jesus use?”

It’s the birthday of Voltaire, (books by this author) the man who helped spark the Enlightenment in France, born François-Marie Arouet in Paris (1694). He was a well-known playwright and poet. He spent most of his late life in exile, and he wrote most of his work from England. In the last year of his life, 1778, he was allowed to return home to Paris. More than 300 people came to visit him his first day in the city, including Benjamin Franklin.

Voltaire wrote, “God is a comedian, playing to an audience too afraid to laugh.”

And, “To succeed in the world it is not enough to be stupid, you must also be well-mannered.”

And, “Let us read and let us dance … two amusements that will never do any harm to the world.”

The featured poem, Fanning’s “A Deer in the Target,” is also worth a read. Also, check out “Snow,” by George Bilgere, from two days before.

For those who believe in God, most of the big questions are answered. But for those of us who can’t readily accept the God formula, the big answers don’t remain stone-written. We adjust to new conditions and discoveries. We are pliable. Love need not be a command or faith a dictum. I am my own God. We are here to unlearn the teachings of the church, state, and our educational system. We are here to drink beer. We are here to kill war. We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us. –Charles Bukowski

I discovered this quotation through one of my Flickr contacts (thanks, Claire), and figured it would fit very well with the Mailer paper I’m writing for next month’s conference. This sounds like something I might say at the beginning of my first-year composition course — I didn’t know until now that I was channeling Bukowski. To me, this sounds like something I heard Mailer say about existentialism: that it’s a continuous asking of questions — an unease with absolutes. I belief this idea is in his last book On God.

The “drink beer” part will also fit in with my personal experiences with the legislation of morality here in Georgia: the law that does not allow alcohol to be sold on Sundays, except in restaurants.

I’ve also discovered a treasure-trove of church signs at Church Sign Generator. Yes, it allows you to make church signs, but it also has pages of real signs. Nice.

I’m in the process of composing my paper for the Norman Mailer Society’s annual conference. Here’s the proposal:

I moved to the American South almost six years ago. About that time, I was introduced to Norman Mailer’s work. Both gave me an interesting perspective on America, its values and its problems (sometimes stemming from said values). This presentation will examine Southern religious values (mostly conservative Baptist) vis-a-vis those of Norman Mailer, particularly in his later work, including The Gospel According to the Son and On God. I will include a short multimedia presentation that documents some of my experiences, interviews members of the Baptist church, and attempts to come to terms with seemingly disparate perceptions on the place of religion in America.

The images I’m collecting are part of the multimedia presentation. I think I’m going to focus more on digital technology as a metaphor for the devil. Still thinking about it. But, if you have some images of church marquis, especially those that link religion with consumerism, I’d love to borrow them.

Zeus, the king of the gods, demanded that strangers be treated graciously. Hosts had a religious duty to welcome strangers, and guests had the responsibility to respect hosts. The tight interconnections and mutual respect in this host-guest relationship are reflected in the fact that the word zenos in ancient Greek can mean both “host” and “guest.” The relationship is often symbolized in the Odyssey by the presentation of gifts. Alcinous, the king of the Phaeacians, for example, gives Odysseus a magically swift ship to get him home.

What happens when the host-guest relationship is abused or otherwise breaks down? In Homer’s epic songs of the Trojan War, the Iliad and the Odyssey, this happens at least three times. The first occasion caused the war itself: Paris, prince of Troy, ran off with the beautiful Helen from Sparta while he was a guest of Helen’s husband, Menelaus. For the Greeks, this insult to xenia (hospitality) was at least as serious as Helen’s unfaithfulness, and it meant that Zeus would, in the end, allow the Greeks to triumph in the long war.

The second example of violated hospitality has its humorous and ironic side. In the Odyssey, the Cyclops is monstrous not only because of his huge size and brutish appearance. He is set apart from civilized beings precisely because of his barbaric outlook on xenia. When Odysseus begs the Cyclops for hospitality and warns that Zeus will avenge an injured guest the Cyclops replies that he and his kind “care not a whistle for . . . Zeus.” With dark humor, the Cyclops uses the word xeineion (Greek for “guest-gift”) when he tells Odysseus that he will have the privilege of being eaten last. The poetic justice of the Cyclops’s blinding would not be lost on Homer’s Greek audience.

The final example of a breach in the law of hospitality underlies the entire plot structure of the Odyssey: Back in Ithaca, the suitors year after year abuse the hospitality of Odysseus — an absent “host” — and threaten to take away his wife. The bloody vengeance that Odysseus takes on these suitors should be understood in the context of their outrageous violation of religious law. The suitors have turned hospitality into a crude mockery. Perhaps it is not accidental that just before the battle Odysseus invokes the host-guest relationship when he quietly gives his son, Telemachus, the signal to fight:

What do you consider the most overrated virtue?
Prayer. Of all the lofty practices, it is the most abused. Church professionals lead the scurry crew who profit from pushing prayer.

From a Proust Questionnaire answered by Norman Mailer in Vanity Fair. Thanks for the links, Ray. Here’s another (I can’t resist):

Which living person do you most despise?
Well, it used to be Ronald Reagan. He was the most ignorant president we ever had. Now George W. has appropriated his seat.

Two students came out of a literature class engaged in a hot debate regarding what they heard during the discussion. Each of them insisted that her understanding was the correct one. To settle the dispute, they went to see the professor for a judgment.

After hearing the argument put forth by the first student, the professor said, “You are correct!” The student was overjoyed. Casting a winner’s glance at her friend, she left the room.

The second student was upset and started to pour out what she thought to the professor. After she finished, the professor looked at her and said, “You are correct, too.” Hearing this, the second student brightened up and went away.

A third student who was also in the room was greatly puzzled by what he saw. He said to the professor, “I am confused! Their positions regarding the issue are completely opposite. They can’t be both right! How could you say that they are both correct?”

The professor smiled as he looked into the eyes of this third student, “You are also correct!”