Monday, 15 February 2010

The Fort Chip Adventure: Where We Take the Winter Access Road North

These photos are of the Winter Access Road stretching north of Fort McMurray to Fort Chipewyan. Some of them will be blurry, unfortunately, because I took them from a moving vehicle. These may seem repetitive, and I'm sorry about that; I tried to stick to different types of forest or terrain.


Notice what the sign is attached to.









I am posting a disproportionate amount of pictures of the Delta (below) than of the Sand Hills (above) because I think many of my readings will find the Delta more visually unique than the Sand Hills. Also, we stopped more often on the Delta, leading to better photos.
Here we are entering the Delta.
















In this photo there is a ptarmigan.





If you can, look closer at the photo below; you will be able to see Fort Chipewyan in the distance.

Friday, 12 February 2010

7 Quick Takes (XXIX)


1. Today is Darwin Day, in case you aren't up on your secular/scientistic holidays. So happy natural selection and all that? I actually don't know what a person is expected to do on Darwin Day. The proximity to St. Valentine's Day sort of suggests that you should be going out and finding an advantagous mating partner and ensuring the genetic diversity of your species or something. I don't know. It seems sort of like Victoria Day; the only difference is that by now Victoria Day's meaning has been entirely eroded and it's just a day off.
2. I'm not really watching the Olympics. 1) I'm not all that interested in sports in the first place, 2) I don't see how competitive games makes for diplomacy, and 3) I've lost respect for the whole institution upon learning that women's beach volleyball is now an official summer event, with bikinis being the official uniform. Patriotism is all well and good, but I don't think I need to support an event which I think is an enormous waste of money and a poor way of securing international relations.

I'm sure I'll be having all sorts of people swan-diving down my throat for this one. The Olympics can be fun, sure, and it's an excellent opportunity for skilled athletes to get attention. For instance, a girl I knew in high school competed in the last summer Olympics, and I'm proud of her for it. It just isn't such a big deal to me.

3. I got some books from the library, both borrowed and purchased. I've borrowed J. R. R. Tolkien's Sanctifying Myth by Bradley J. Birzer, The Trouble with Physics: The Rise of String Theory, the Fall of a Science, and What Comes Next by Lee Smolin, Best Canadian Stories 08 by (editor) John Metcalf, and Tales Before Tolkien: The Roots of Modern Fantasy by (edited and commentary) Douglas A. Anderson. I purchased Henry James and the Problem of Robert Browning by Ross Posnock, Just After Sunset by Stephen King, Winter Notes on Summer Impressions by Dostoevsky, Obasan by Joy Kogawa, The Secret of Dragonhome by John Peel, and World Wonders by Robertson Davies. As usual, I am further burying myself in books that I will not have time to read.
So far, I have finished Sanctifying Myth and read some of The Trouble with Physics and Best Canadian Stories. Perhaps I will discuss these later.

4. Lately it has been mild. It's a range between -25 or so and near thawing. There has been little snow and virtually no wind. There are therefore no complaints on the weather side of things.

5. I have still been feeling less-than-healthy, but I've nonetheless gone to work. One thing I will say about work is that I clambered up a ladder to cut down a damaged eavestrough. I borrowed my Dad's tin snips to do the job, and they cut through the eavestrough like construction paper. The hardest part, actually, was hauling the ladder through the snowdrifts. It caught the snow like a net and dragged it. The heights didn't bother me, which is a good sign.
6. My mother has been walking to work lately--which is itself an interesting story, as this involves cutting through the bush--so I have had to take the bus to work. I had forgotten about that whole process, and it is a little less than exciting when you're nauseated. (Jon, I'm trying very hard to use nauseous and nauseated according to their original meanings. It would be out of character for me to use them incorrectly.) Also, I am no longer enchanted by bright bus interiors in the night. However, compared to most cities, Fort McMurray has an excellent public transportation system. Fare is $1.25, and I can get from home to work in about half an hour. Buses very rarely come late.

7. On Wednesday I stopped in at the Peter Pond Shopping Centre and visited the Coles. I went there to buy a copy of North Word, a fledgeling literary journal for the Canadian north and to order a copy of Morrison's The English Opium-Eater, a biography of Thomas de Quincey. (The author, Robert Morrison, is a professor I had in second year, and a phenomenal lecturer and person. That he gets royalties is the only reason I was willing to shell out that much for a book.) (I know, I know. More books.) At Coles, I saw a table of discount books, and on it was a book of Canadian photography. My mother had been talking before about not having any nice reference books (in artiste lingo, a book with nice glossy pictures you can use as a drawing reference) from which to paint. I was humming and hawing over the book, when I came upon a photo of a man hand-feeding two beavers carrots. Both were sitting up on their hind legs, and one had his little front paws out, reaching for the lovely tubers. I decided that that photo alone was worth $10, so I bought the book.
While I was there, I went in to the food court for Chinese, which for some reason I am always craving but never eating. Then I lost track of the time and missed my connection.

A note on the Peter Pond Shopping Centre: it's one of the few things in Fort McMurray still named after the first white man to come to the area. There used to be a public school and a hotel named after him, but no more. Pond is likely the most well-known local historical figure here, as even the recent immigrants to Fort McMurray hear of him. However, naming things after him has become a faux pas, largely because he was a cruel bigot and murderer. He is suspected of murdering two rival fur traders, but he was never convicted. Evidence has also come forth that he beat the indigenous peoples he traded with and that he distributed pox blankets to the local tribes. In the case that you're not well-researched in European subjugation of Native North Americans I'll explain a pox blanket: it's a blanket deliberately infected with small pox so that the people who buy and use it will catch the disease and, not having an immunities to it, die. This is why we no longer name things after Peter Pond.

That's seven!

I will also announce that the folks and I are visiting Fort Chipewyan this coming long weekend. It should be fun. We leave early tomorrow morning, and will go dog-sledding and will hopeful see the Aurora Borealis.

You know to visit Conversion Diary by now, surely.

Monday, 8 February 2010

When Convoluted Writing is Educational

For those of you who wish to at this moment or in the future learn how to write aesthetically pleasing prose, I encourage you to read the articles of one Tycho Brahe. That's not Tycho Brahe the long-dead astronomer, but rather the pseudonym for a guy who makes nerdiness its own sort of aesthetic lifestyle. (As he puts it, "nerd" is no longer perjorative, but a statement of fact.) His real name is Jerry Holkins, and he does the words for the Penny Arcade webcomic. (I have mentioned him before.)

Every so often, as I read his articles, I find particular phrases that strike me as unique to Tycho's writing. The most recent offering is "quasi-useful technofetishist totems," his definition for the word "gadgets." (I say "most recent offering" because that is something Tycho would say.) I like reading his articles because there's something he does with words that is hard to pin-point but not hard to admire. It's not as though his writing is beautiful or elegant in any way. He instead pushes the limits of just how elaborate, technical, sesquipedalian, and outright cacophonic he can be without becoming unreadable. This is a boundary he explores without quite going over.

I don't advocate that we write like Tycho does, unless this is an effect you want to go for. I would suggest, rather, that we study his writing and see what things he uncovers for us. What is it that attracts, and what is it that repels? His language is a brand; what can this help us understand? What brands a style of language, and what reprecussions does this have?

Specifically, I think it's worth looking at his vocabulary--much of it constructed on the spot--and his syntax. How and where does he use the "big" words? And in what places does his langauge seem unique? Above I mention that "offering" seems Tychonean. How can such a word be unique to a single author? When it's used by that author repeatedly in an unusual way, readers will begin to associate that way of using the word with the author. If the reader then sees it used this way elsewhere, they will recall the author who has 'branded' it. This is also true of syntax or thought-structure. Tycho's paragraphs work in a peculiar way that I'm still attempting to unravel, and I think his sentences work this way, too. If I make any head-way, I'll perhaps let you know.

So what are the effects of branding? In Tycho's case, I think it makes the writing less immediate, and brings the speaker to the fore. In this case, the speaker may be a constructed persona, of course, which meshes nicely with Tycho being a pseudonym. (Perhaps we can suggest that Jerry is really using the 'avatar' concept to its fullest extent.) Also in Tycho's case, it gives the reader a sense of belonging: when you become familiar with his writing, when you can recognize it, when you can say that you predicted what he was going to say on a less-than-conscious level, you feel like you're part of an in-group that knows the contructed persona of Tycho. This means that the constructed "Tycho" character is pushed outward while the reader is brought inward, creating a sort of intimacy. Since Tycho gives reviews and offers advice to a niche community used to on-line interactions (ie. gamer nerds), this likely serves his audience well. If he was writing a narrative, it wouldn't; narratives work best when they draw you in. When you notice the prose, you are popped back out into the space of reading a book. (This may not always be true; noticeable prose may sometimes draw you into itself. But when the prose is noticeable because it is somehow jarring or difficult, you are almost always reminded that you are reading text.)

Things to think about.

For the article where I found the quoted phrase, go here.
For information on the charity work Gabe and Tycho have done, go here.

Friday, 5 February 2010

7 Quick Takes (XXVIII)


1. In case you were curious, I did not encounter the Jehova's Witness people on Saturday, as I was sleeping in when they came by. I also went for a walk in the woods this day.

2. I don't recall anything terribly fascinating happening at St. Thomas' on Sunday. One of the newer Lay Readers did the service all by herself, which I thought was unnecessary. While a Morning Prayer service does not really require a server, and so the officiant usually tells the server for that Sunday that they are not required to be up there, I make a point of serving anyway. After all, I wouldn't want to do it alone. Furthermore, this was the Lay Reader's first time officiating without the deacon with her. However, I wasn't serving, so if she told her server that she didn't have to do it and her server chose not to, it really isn't my place to say, "Well, then, I'll just butt in here and serve anyway!"
I went for a walk in the woods this day, too.
3. I fell ill on Monday and took the day off work. This persisted throughout the week.
Over the course of Saturday, Sunday, and Monday, I watched the entirety of Battlestar Galactica, Season 3. The whole thing. I don't usually go overboard like that, but I found the show fixating. It has pretty much anything that someone would want to watch. Action. Romance. Politics. Intrigue. Strategy. Honour. Dishonour. Friendships. Sex. Domestic disputes. Medicine. Religion. Philosophy. Timely ethical quandries. Spaceships. Prophecies. Hallucinations (which can also be prophecies). Sexy robot-clones. Babies.
What I like about Battlestar Galactica is that it doesn't use science-fiction strictly as a form of escapism; it uses the possibilities science-fiction provides to create a number of emotionally-engaging scenarios which encourage us to ask questions about our own society. Furthermore, it does not posit that developing new technologies is an answer to society's problems, but instead shows characters making political, social, and individual decisions to solve these problems (though the solutions do not always work). And unlike a lot of science fiction, it looks at religion not as a human byproduct due for removal by a rational society, but as quite possibly true. That is, the religious prophecies in Battlestar Galactica tend to be right, and metaphysical/supernatural things happen which the characters find themselves unable to explain. By the same token, the show is honest about religious pluralism and the darker sides of some religious traditions. Overall, it's quite refreshing to see a science-fiction show demonstrate this awareness, sensitivity, and openness. In my experience, sci-fi is either relentlessly scientistic-atheist or else very biased towards Eastern and perhaps New Age sources.
Consider this a plug for the show.

4. I went for a walk down to Conn Creek on Tuesday, hoping that fresh air and excercise would clear my system and help me get better. While I discovered a number of trails in a new section of this bush, I also was exhausted far quicker than usual and did not feel well that evening. (Or, felt worse than usual.)
What I like about the bush around Fort McMurray is that there is such diversity in so small an area. You consistently find new "areas" that have different vegetative growth, different geological conditions, and therefore a different aesthetic. (Most forested areas are equally as diverse, in my experience, it's just that I don't get to explore them as extensively as I can here.)
I also watched some Corner Gas this day.

5. Wednesday... Wednesday... I think I read a lot and watched more Corner Gas. The life of the ill is unexciting.
Oh, I spent some time revising my fiction idea. This means that the first half-dozen to a dozen pages that I wrote are now irrelevent.

6. On Thursday I went to the hospital to see if I had an inner ear infection, but, no, I just have a stomach virus.
I think they design hospitals to exacerbate your symptoms. I felt more unwell than usual there.
Anyway, I watched many TED Talks yesterday. Many. If I watch the right ones, I get very excited about new media.
I had an idea some time ago, but I think that here and now is a good time to unveil it: Religion is the oldest form of multimedia. It is a whole experience that involved so many different media/genres. Consider entering a church or cathedral (Catholic, Orthodox, or High Anglican make the best examples here). In one service, you most likely get these artistic forms (ie. media):
  • architecture
  • painting
  • sculpture
  • furniture design
  • stage arrangement/blocking
  • floral arrangement
  • incense
  • lighting (candles)
  • fashion/clothing (vestments)
  • embroidery (vestments again)
  • instrumental music
  • singing (often different styles and different languages)
  • rhetorical oration (sermon)
  • theatre/performance (rituals like the Eucharist and responsive readings)
  • chanting
  • narrative writing (Gospel and OT readings)
  • discursive writing (Epistle readings)

In other congregations you would have dance and choreography and, perhaps, film. These are all presented in a 360 degree environment in a carefully planned sequence (which itself is laden with meaning). Furthermore, it's interactive. We may think that blending genres is avante-garde, but scholars tell us poets have been doing it since at least the Middle Ages. I would say that people have been blending genres since humans began to worship, and I don't care if you're a creationist or an evolutionist, I think we can all agree that worship is pretty darn old.

7. I went to work for three hours today. I did some stuff that I needed to do, and then I went home. I'm still not feeling well, and I thought I was wasting my own time and my employers money being at work today. I won't get into it.
The boss for the moment said that I should go home, that I was likely burnt out and just needed the break. I suppose it's possible that my illness is really my body's way of taking a week off and compelling me to follow suit. Stupid body.

Go visit Conversion Diary, the host of this fine carnival.

Thursday, 4 February 2010

Making Sense of Existentialism

Warning: epic-length post.

Jon suggested I write a post that tried to make sense of existentialism. I'm currently off from work nursing a nauseated stomach, so maybe I'll give this a shot. I admit I have never been fond of existentialism, or at least certain strands of it, and so it hasn't ever been something I had ever studied of my own choosing. This being said, I've been enrolled in philosophy courses before and dealt with this school of thought there. Like Eastern religions and the more subtle forms of Western philosophy, existentialism is, I think, one of those worldviews which requires time more than rational premise-to-premise analysis to comprehend. When I first encountered it in high school I managed to deceive myself into thinking I understood it. In my first year of university I was thoroughly disabused of this notion. Now, after having existentialism reside in the back, cobwebbed corners of my consciousness, I have looked into the matter at Jon's urging, and think I might have a grasp of it. I am somewhat aclimatized. (Maybe I'm wrong; if you're an expert in existentialism and you're reading this, feel free to point out my errors.)

Don't let the accompanying picture fool you; existentialism has little to do with chain-smoking. The figures in the picture--Simone de Beauvoir, Jean-Paul Sartre, and Albert Camus--are all important figures in the development of this philosophy. I could take you through existentialism's development, from its grandfathers Kierkegaard and Neitzsche down into the present, but I don't think this is really the way to do it. If you wanted an in-depth understanding of the philosophy, this would be necessary, since each thinker contributed a different version, as it were, to the whole picture. (As you may well know, in the same way that religious traditions and scientific departments not only allow wiggle-room in individuals' beliefs but are in fact made up of an aggragate of individuals' beliefs, so too are schools of philosophy not much more than the common denominators in multiple philosophers' systems.) For our purposes, whoever, I feel we would lose the thread that the runs through them and get lost in the details. So I will avoid names except when necessary. This being said, those three names are ones worth remembering, because if you did want to look into the matter a little more, these are the people who best expressed the existentialist outlook.
Let's get to it. First, take a look at the word itself: existentialism. The philosophy is based on the idea of existence. Moreover, it is based on a particular concept of existence, in this case that it precedes essense. "Existence" and "essense" are specific terms with long, meandering philosophical pedigrees, so I'll try to explain what they mean by saying that existence precedes essense. According to the existentialists, people exist before they have an identity. When you or I, as a discrete individual, comes into the world, we are isolated and without an identity. Only after we encounter the world do we begin to accumulate something of an identity, but even in then it's not a static thing. We build who we are by what we do. I have heard this described by the following metaphor: the human person is a paintbrush that paints itself.* We are built up of our past decisions, but we mustn't let that fool us into thinking that these decisions limit what we do. No, each decision is made freely.
This is the second important marker in existentialism: free will. The philosophy holds that all of our decisions are made in radical freedom. We alone are responsible for all of our decisions, and cannot pass this blame on to anything else. In a related move, the existentialists claim that we can choose to adjust our values at any time, and thus are responsible for the values we hold as well. This is different from saying that we have no values; acting without values, or randomly, is a refusal to take responsibility for our actions. However, to claim that we had no choice but to act in a certain way is also a refusal to take responsibility for our actions, as we could always have changed those values.
It is in this important element--free will--that existential is most different from naturalism. Both schools of thought are modernist philosophies that tend to produce urban and pessimistic plays or literature in which characters appear desperate and human society comes off looking hypocritical. They are thus sometimes confused. In fact, they are very different. Naturalism is a philosophic and aesthetic movement which supposes that people have no free will; we are mechanized animals which are driven by our instincts, devoid of real reason, free will, or civilization. Existentialism disagrees entirely; according to Sartre and his co-philosophers, humans, while not rational, are free to make decisions. Their 'instincts' or biological predispositions cannot be held responsible for our actions. We are responsible for our actions, and neurology can get off at the next stop, please and thank-you.
Further, we cannot pass responsiblity off onto reason, either. We are not reasonable, and the universe is inherently chaotic, so even if we were reasonable, it wouldn't do an ounce of good. We must make our decisions in spite of the irrational world. In this way you'll notice that existentialism is different from new atheism or scientism: while many existentialists are atheists, this is the only thing they have in common with folks like Dawkins or Hitchens, who believe strongly in humanity's ability to reason about our ordered universe. According to the existentialists, believing that humans are rational is just another attempt to avoid facing the truth.
What is that truth? Simply, this: the world is without meaning. It is absurd. We are each alone in a subjective world. No set of values is inherently true or stable, and the world does not have any meaning of its own. (Or perhaps it does, but whatever meaning it intrisically has is only relevant to itself and accessible by itself, so whether it has its own meaning or not makes no difference to you.) In this world, we are wholly responsible for our actions, but these actions have no inherent meaning. When we realize this, we face the Absurd.
Now, Absurdism is a movement of its own, which claims that all the world is absurd, like existentialism. The difference is that absurdism stops there: the world is absurd, and our goal is to live with and perhaps even embrace this. Theatre of the Absurd** develops these ideas, though to say that Theatre of the Absurd is either always existentialist or absurdist would be a gross and inaccurate generalization. Existentialism, then, says that we cannot sit still with sheer meaninglessness. Rather, our goal is to construct our own meaning for the world. We must draft our own values and live by them, taking full responsibility for having made the values ourselves. There is a third camp which is relevant to this paragraph, and that camp is Nihilism. Nihilism believes that there is no meaning at all, that we can't even create meaning, and that idea of 'meaning' in the world is itself meaningless. Not even Absurdism will go that far; Absurdism allows that the idea of values exist and that searching for them is productive, even though that search will only yeild the Absurd. Wikipedia has a nice little chart summing this up.
The goal of existentialism, then, is to accept our radical responsibility for our actions in a chaotic world by creating our own meaning. I repeat that we are not trapped in our meaning, because we create it ourselves. Because we can change it at any minute, we are still responsible for how we act. Facing our own responsibility and generating our own meaning, or values, is called living "authentically"; trying to pass the responsibility to someone or something else or claiming that the world is without meaning and therefore that our decisions mean nothing is living "inauthentically."
Now, a person may come along and say, "Well hold on. There are things that limit our actions. For instance, I cannot ever choose to run faster than the speed of light. It's just not possible." Existentialism is well aware of this fact.*** You cannot make decisions against facticity. This word basically denotes the unalterable facts about the world and yourself. For instance, you cannot change the decisions you made in the past. You cannot change the physical limitations of your body. You cannot change the social and political situations (though you can change what the social and political situations of the future might be). In other words, you exist in a context. If you ignore facticity, you are being inauthentic. However, if you think that facticity in any way shapes what your decisions within that context are, you're also being inauthentic. Let's say you've lived a life that is deceitful, murderous, bigamous, and cruel. If you choose to ignore your past and make the rest of your decisions with a 'fresh' start, you're being inauthentic. If you say that your past obviously makes you a deceiving, murdering, cruel bigamist and that you really have no choice but to continue a life of immorality and crime, then you are also being inauthentic. If you accept your past, face it squarely, choose a system of values that understands your past decisions as immoral, and live your life in compliance with this system of morals, taking responsibility both for your previous actions and the ones you make now, you are being authentic. The same goes for your place in society and what your body is capable of.
According to existentialists, we humans, in the condition I outlined above, often exhibit numerous states which are akin to emotional states. The most important of these are angst and despair. Angst is the feeling we get when faced with our own freedom to action. It's the feeling of standing at the of a cliff and realizing that not only might we fall off, but that there is nothing to prevent us from throwing ourselves off. We can always choose to destroy ourselves, and we cannot create any external barriers to prevent ourselves. The choice is ours. A housemate of mine, who shall remain unnamed, once told me that he felt this when he was on 'shrooms. He was shaving and realized that nothing was stopping him from slitting his own throat. It was not as though he thought he would kill himself; what scared him is that he could. Afterwards he said he didn't think would do 'shrooms again. An existentialist would suggest that he did not want to do 'shrooms because he disliked the truth the experience showed him.
Despair is what we experience when one of the facets of the identity we've created for ourselves is put in jeopardy. A common example is when an athlete receives an injury which permenantly prevents her from playing sports. Somehow who defines themselves as a model citizen and then, for whatever reason, commits a serious crime, would then feel that their identity is threatened. According to existentialism, we are always in a state of despair, since our constructred identity is never secure. This is not to say that we are always despairing, but that we are always in this specifically defined state of despair.
I will also say that existentialism has particular things to say about the Other and the Look (or Gaze), but these don't seem integral to the position, in my opinion. If you want, you could always look into it. Existentialism's Other is significantly different from post-colonialism's, and its Gaze is also different from feminism's.
Finally, I will again remind you that no two existentialists believe quite the same thing. A particular rift is between atheistic existentialists and theistic, often Christian, existentialists. In many ways they have the same opinions, but the Christian existentialists believe there is something behind the Absurd--namely, God--which does endow the world with meaning. However, God is 'invisible' to reason, and in order to access this meaning humans must make a leap of faith, a free decision to believe in God, without any justification. Such a leap of faith, to the Christian existentialist, is the only way to construct your own meaning. Notice, though, that meaning is still constructed and that the individual is still responsible for accepting it as his own. To say, "I do this because the Bible says so," is in this view inauthentic; only saying, "I do this because I have decided to accept what the Bible says, and the Bible says I should do this, so I have decided to do this," is authentic. Kierkegaard,**** one of those grandfathers of existentialism, is the most obvious forerunner of this line of thought, while Nietzsche is more clearly the forerunner of atheistic existentialism, though both contributed ideas to all streams of existentialism.
One thing I also did not spend much time discussing is existential art. From its beginnings, existentialism has been developed and spread as much through literature and drama as through philosophical discursive writing. Perhaps this is because existentialism to some degree requires immersion to follow comprehend: you must live in its worldview to grasp it, and literature is a way of doing this. (See Michael Ward's Planet Narnia for a similar idea; he suggests the Lewis wanted to advocate particular Christian symbols not by discursive writing, but by creating stories embodying the worldview and inviting readers to inhabit the stories and therein the worldviews.) Anyway, there are a lot of artists who draw on existential themes or try to create works embodying existentialism. Wikipedia's article on existentialism can help you out in this case, since to list every existentialist artist would be a waste of space.
Jon, I hope this helps crystalize the position. Other readers, I hope this also helped you understand the position. In this concluding paragraph, I want to emphasize that I am not an existentialist. I do not believe much of what's up there. About the only thing I will accept whole-heartedly is that we must take responsibility for our actions. (Oh, I'll also accept that we are not fully rational.) I do not think we have radical free will; rather, it is my suspicion that we have only limited free will. I do not think that the universe is meaningless; rather, I think that there are objective and universal values. Further, as I once heard a pastor say, "What if I like being lazy and inauthentic? If there are no values, there are no values." That is, I don't see how the existentialists can claim that we 'must' be authentic or that our 'goal' is authenticity when, according to them, all values are subjective and constructed. This alone makes me a pretty lousy existentialist. However, one cannot reject a position without endeavouring to understand it, or at least you should not try to get other people to reject it if you don't understand it; for this reason, I am happy to try to explain existentialism.
Okay, time to go, curl up on the coach, and try to forget about my miserable stomach.
----
*I had trouble with this metaphor the first (and only) time I heard it. By good luck I remember it, and now it makes sense to me. The key is to stop taking this so literally, and to stop applying the logic you already think you know to it. If you want to understand this worldview, you must take it on its own terms at first. Only after this can you critique it, if you like.
** Theatre of the Absurd is a fascinating dramatic form which pushes theatrical conventions. Rather like dreams, actors will switch characters during the second act and then repeat the first act pertty much verbatim, only in new roles; "audience members" will get up join the acting, while the cast will step down and join the audience; each character could quite possible be two or three other characters in disguise; language and communication breaks down, moving through double entendre into utter nonsense. For an excellent example, see The Real Inspector Hound. Woody Allen's God has many characteristics of Theatre of the Absurd, as well.
*** For the reader's information, this sort of objection is known as a 'strawman arguement.' A strawman arguement is where you come up with a pretty stupid claim, say it's part of your opponent's position, and then disprove it easily, thereby 'disproving' your opponent's arguement. This is a silly, underhanded, invalid, and unsporting way of going about philosophy. Please do not do it. You only wind up looking like a fool yourself.
****Kierkegaard, according to one of those Facebook quizzes, is my philosophical analogue.

Wednesday, 3 February 2010

Paulo Coelho's The Enigma


This is is pretty cool idea. I wish I could take part.
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