Whether what you believe in is a God or not is immaterial. For, to be an Atheist, one must take a position that God is certain to not exist and those who believe otherwise are wrong. But, in adopting this position, you are nevertheless conceding two points: firstly, many others do believe in God and you are adopting an oppositional or alternative position to a long-established belief, and; secondly, you are certain of something. Something you cannot be certain of. In this regard, the believer and the Atheist are identical – they both believe in something that is not empirically measurable. Thus, both, are adopting a position based on Faith.

The Faith of the believer and the faith of the Atheist are not, however, identical. One believes there is a God while the latter believes there is no God. The Atheist, instead, believes in a world sans God; for such reasons as their being insufficient evidence to warrant the worship of One or that the world is a better place without the presence, real or imagined, of a meddling ubermensch. So, for the Atheist, their entire world outlook, personality, disposition, etc. is predicated upon this belief. That sounds an awful lot like a religion to me. Just a much lonelier and isolating one than, say, Judaism, Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism or Christianity.

Then there are the anti-theists. People who hate God and all those who believe. I don’t really see how this is any different from the more extremist sects of any of the major world religions; who hate everyone who does not believe what they believe. Anti-theism smells an awful lot like Islamic, Jewish or Christian fundamentalism to me.

It requires more Faith to be an Atheist than it does to be a Theist. The Atheist claims to be absolutely certain that something they can neither see nor touch does not exist. An absolute certainty from a position of uncertainty is a huge leap of Faith, no?

Theists, on the other hand, accept that there may in fact be no God at all. Faith is not knowing for sure. That’s why we believe – because Faith is belief born of uncertainty. To claim that one is certain of God’s existence is religious mania; to claim that one is certain of God’s non-existence is irreligious mania. Both are equally untenable and unjustifiable positions.

In the Politics of Exclusion, someone must always be on the outer. By externalising an undesirable element and branding it both alien and threatening the rest of us are safe to feel included and protected. Those of are on the inside feel a false, but no less reassuring and conformity despite its artificiality, sense of camaraderie and solidarity. Whether those who are excluded and demonised be blacks, gays, Arabs, Jews, etc. – the effect is achieved well enough.

Thomas Jefferson is oft-quoted as having said “The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.” Naively, Jefferson assumed that tyrants and patriots were, and are, two separate and distinct concepts. They are, of-course, not. Tyrants and patriots are simply too identical products with different labels.

Our enemies are not evil or bad for desiring our deaths, anymore than we are evil or bad for desiring their’s. It is simply the nature of warfare. Calling one’s enemies evil is little more than childish self-justification for a course of action that one knows to be wrong or unjust. Like hitting your little brother and telling yourself that he deserved it to absolve yourself of either the guilt or the blame, or both.

In fact, our enemies in whatever form they may take, do us a great favour. For, by being contrary and/or aggressive in their opposing position, they provide us with a clear direction in which to direct our ire; lest it turn into self-loathing. In reference to the Nazi “final solution” of eradicating Jews as a measure to perpetually uniting Germany, Jacques Allan Miller posits: “The Jew is not what hinders the advent of the class relationship, as the anti-Semitic perspective error makes us believe. The Jew is on the contrary a filler, that which fills in the relationship which does not exist [a relationship of harmony and solidarity between countrymen and women] and bestows on it fantasmatic consistency.”

What’s the best way to prevent domestic tension between socio-economic classes? Justify a perpetual war.

Without the reality of division, we cannot cling to the fantasy of cohesion.

In other words, what appears to be the hindrance to society’s chances of having “all just get along” is actually the only thing binding us together.

So bless our enemies, every one of them. Whether they are created by us or are antagonists by nature. For they are all that prevents the thin tissue of capitalist prosperity and “freedom” and utter domestic anarchy; cf. Salem witch hunts, the rise of McCarthyism, the rise in domestic terrorism (Okalahoma, Waco, the 1^st WTC attack) during the comparatively internationally-pacifist years of the Clinton administration.

So, what’s keeping us all scared is really the only thing keeping us safe.

Now, as a well-qualified English teacher, I don’t consider it brazen of me to presume the high ground on how one does and does not speak English. And whilst I am a firm believer in the notion that when one travels abroad one ought conduct oneself in a manner commensurate with the laws and values of the country one is in. You won’t see me stealing a worthless beer mat from an Aussie pub in Bangkok and telling the police that it was just for a laugh by way of excuse – idiots like that deserve to be looked up. And if I had a dollar for every scantily-clad American woman I saw ostentatiously decrying the discriminatory prudery of the Thai Buddhist temple guards denying them access, I would indeed be a much wealthier man. But, being told how to speak my own language, is not one of the occasions when I will acquiesce to this adage.

Let me explain what I mean. If you drive a taxi in Bangkok it’s highly profitable to know some English. In fact, that can be said of anyone in Thailand. Now, given that you’re over there in a foreign country and not at home, it’s your job to make yourself understood – even if it requires a lot of repetition, careful enunciation and patience. All of this is fair enough. And you have no right to lose your temper or become impatient with the locals when they cannot understand you. But I’ll tell you when you bloody well do have the right! When they have the indecency to correct your English.

A typical example:

“I’d like to go to the Millennium Hilton on the Riverside,” you say.

Thai taxi-driver gives you a quizzical look – too many words.

“Millennium Hilton – Riverside,” you simplify.

“Malinyum Hill-thon Riv-sigh?” questions your driver.

“Yes! The Millennium Hilton, Riverside!” you exclaim joyfully.

“Malinyum Hill-thon Riv-sigh,” corrects your driver, condescendingly.

That’s just not right!

Look, if I pronounce your language wrong I will duly apologise and try to get it right next time with the help of your correction. But the Thais seem to have a prevailing arrogance that their monotonal hiccuping is a veritable rendition of English.

No, it’s not! I don’t give a damn if I am in your country – you’re speaking my language. And whilst there may be many a time when I believe it prudent to actively resist the long arm of cultural imperialism from embracing you, this is not one of them.

In order to make a 22-minute (30 mins with commercials) T.V. Sitcom (Situational Comedy) both interesting and amusing, the writers of the show must follow very strict guidelines in terms of plot structure.

Above is a diagram, known as Freyatg’s Triangle, which explains how the plot of a T.V. Sitcom is structured.

Events in any episode, of any T.V. Sitcom, are structured approximately as follows:

BEGINNING:

1-3mins = The audience sees the characters in their “normal” state of existence. They are doing ordinary things like watching teleview (cf. The Simpsons), or having breakfast in the kitchen (cf. Two and a Half Men) or arriving home from work (cf. King of Queens). Within this first few minutes a disruption or complication is introduced that drives the action of that episode; this is known as the “incentive moment”.

4-18mins = This is a period of mounting conflict. The disruption or complication gives way to “rising action”; the characters work to resolve their problem and get their lives back to normal. In the process of trying to solve their problem, the characters encounter increasingly difficult obstacles and conflicts. For example, the cast of Futurama have been employed to deliver a package to a distant planet and in the course of doing this they are help captive by violent space aliens; Throughout the episode they must overcome increasingly more difficult challenges in order to free themselves and get back home; At around the 18min mark they will face up against their final and most difficult challenge, such as the leader of the aliens.

By increasing the intensity of the difficulty faced by the characters, the show is using a technique called “accumulation”.  In theory, it should get funnier as the show goes on.  

When the “accumulation” peaks, it is known as desis; this is the most intense and difficult moment for the characters in the episode. Ideally, it is also the funniest moment or “the big laugh” of the episode.

19-22mins = Once the show has “peaked”, the audience will rapidly lose interest. So, the show must be wrapped up quickly. In these final few minutes, we see the characters resolve their difficulties and differences. The denouement or moral of the story is revealed. The “falling action” leads to a happy resolution for all the characters by the end of the episode. Once the Sitcom episode is over, there is almost never any consequences or lasting effects for the characters to deal with. Comedy is really about “getting away with it”, whilst Drama is about “dealing with things when they go wrong”.

Not for the first time, I count myself blessed for having been born a man. I can get in and out of a public restroom unmolested, my greatest hazard being the handle on the door to exit. But my heart rends for women. Not to sound all Biblical, but in a Swine Flu obsessed world, it is the uncleanliness of women that will be the undoing of us all.

A recent article in the Sydney Morning Herald (2-3 May, 2009) reported that “Dog attacks are more common in inner-city areas than in the western suburbs.” Well, duh. People in the western suburbs, as gullied up as they may be, are at least imbued with the common-sense understanding that large dogs need large spaces. Staffordshire terriers, Australian cattle dogs and German shepards are the three biggest offenders of biting attacks. With “263 attacks in people, which resulted in 169 injuries, 23 hospitalisations and one death” so far this year. And it’s only May, people.

Look, I don’t care how small your penis is or how desperately insecure a woman you are from watching too many episodes of Today Tonight – You should not have a big dog if you live in a densely populated area. You don’t! I’m no PETA-donating vegetarian, but I like dogs. I feel for dogs. And I understand why dogs who are kept chained up or cooped up all day in tight confines may snap. It’s not their fault – it’s their brain-dead owner’s fault. How feral would you turn if someone locked you up in a room the size of a bed all day long? 

And, perhaps, most upsetting about all this is the pathetic euphemisms we use to spare the feelings of us over-sensitive humans. Especially, if they are directly at fault. Offending dogs aren’t killed. Hey, we don’t even say “put down” anymore. Too inhumane. Instead, we use the terms “disposed of” or “destroyed” – as if they were no different from any other faulty consumer item. Which, sadly, is how too many self-centred yuppies consider them. I may be a snob, but I draw the line at being directly responsible for the prolonged suffering of anyone that lives under my roof.

The breeds that bite don’t need to be made illegal, stupidity needs to be made illegal.

But, I’ve come to realise, we’re all crazy! That’s right. You, me, all of us. It is the work of social theorist and psychologist Dieter Henrich that has brought me to this realisation. In his essay “Hegel Grundoperation”, Henrich explains that human consciousness is comprised of an I-subject and an I-object. In order to speak about our thoughts, our feelings, our reactions, our minds (both to others and to ourselves) – we externalise our consciousness from the confines of our minds. In other words, when you admonish yourself for being scared or shy, your I-subject is telling your I-object to behave. When you can’t help but react in an emotional and irrational way despite yourself, your consciousness is being objectified by an I-subject that you believe yourself not to be in command of. Confused? I don’t blame you.

So what does this all mean? You’re nuts, basically. We are all. In a way, we all suffer from Dissociative Identity Disorders (formally known as Multiple Personality Disorder). In order to talk to ourselves, or to talk about ourselves, we must separate or disassociated our consciousness.

In other words, you have to be more than a little crazy to be called sane.

Typical of Atwood, all the stories here are centred on women. The characters are deeply fleshed-out, so much so that they seem more real to you, by the time you get to the last page, than the people you know in reality. And it is this willful suppression of our true minds, especially from those most close to us, that is the central theme of the novel. A truly timeless theme.

Unfortunately, the brilliance of Atwood’s psychologically insightful stream-of-consciousness style and penetration into the hear of the human condition is marred by her gyno-centrism. All her female characters are so well drawn that they transcend the page, but when it comes to male characters (whether minor of major) she stoops to cliche’ and generalisation. Much of this could be forgiven in the stories that centre upon the narrator’s experiences as a young woman, but not so when she has grown older and supposedly wiser. Such parochialism can be effective character development, but not so when we are dealing with a character who is delivering great insight about the changes in the world around her. When the narrator has reached the almost omnipotent insight of her twilight years, it is simply unbelievable. And you cannot exuse it as a willful omission, without having to concede that Atwood is guilty of the ultimate feminist hyprocrisy.