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Is war inevitable?

I can't find the quote online, but if I can trust my memory, it was from a V.S. Naipaul interview. The author was asked how he thought the situation in the Middle East would end, and he said that it would end with "victory for one side and defeat for the other". The interviewer thought this sounded a bit harsh, to which Naipaul replied that he was not condoning the situation, that was simply what he saw.



With the ascent of Obama to office, perhaps the world begins to look different. After all, the closure of the detention facilities at Guantanamo seems a symbolic and practical step towards dismantling entrenched mechanisms of war. However, it is probably still too early to become complacent in one's hope. In London Review of Books, David Bromwich has the following to say:

To judge by the nomination of Hilary Clinton as secretary of state and the likely nomination of Dennis Ross as Middle East envoy, Obama wants to be seen as someone who intends no major change of course. In a televised interview on 11 January, he said he would deal with Israel and Palestine in the manner of the Clinton and Bush administrations. The unhappy message of his recent utterances has been reconciliation without truth; and reconciliation, above all, for Americans. This preference for bringing-together over bringing-to-light is a trait of Obama's political character we are only now coming to see the extent of. It is an element - until lately an unperceived element - of a certain native moderation of temper that is likely to mark his presidency. Yet his silence on Gaza has been startling, even immoderate.



The implication of this passage is that Obama might believe peace possible only through chloroforming the truth. When both or all sides are allowed a voice, according to such a belief, conflict is inevitable. If Obama does, in fact, believe such a thing, then it might be hard to blame him. Historically, almost any kind of difference has been enough to inflame human insecurity to a murderous degree. To pluck one random example from history, Galileo expressed an opinion (now generally accepted as fact) that differed from many of those around him, and was put on trial and forced to recant - in this case the peace being enforced by chloroform.



Such controversies continue. For instance, not long ago. Michel Houellebecq was put on trial for calling Islam "the dumbest religion".

From the article linked to:

The controversial writer is being sued by four Islamic organisations over his comments about his book, Platform, in an interview last year with the literary magazine Lire.

The novel is also cited in the case being brought by the largest mosques in Paris and Lyon, the National Federation of French Muslims (FNMN) and the World Islamic League.

France's Human Rights League has also joined them, saying that Mr Houellebecq's comments amount to "Islamophobia".

The case has become a cause celebre, which, like the Salman Rushdie affair in the UK, raises questions about the appropriate limits, if any, to be placed on freedom of expression.



Houellebecq's position?

"I have never displayed the least contempt for Muslims," he said, but added, "I have as much contempt as ever for Islam".



This seems to be a retort of admirable clarity. There are, of course, differences between Galileo's trial and that of Houellebecq, but there is at least one very worrying similarity.

Mr Houellebecq's lawyer, Emmanuel Pierrat, argues that the case effectively re-establishes the notion of blasphemy, despite the fact that France is a secular state and has no such law.



Had he been found guilty, Houellebecq would have faced "up to a year in prison and a 52,000 euro fine".

Fortunately - I have no qualms in saying that - the suit was eventually dismissed.

Is war inevitable? Is the only way to peace to choloroform into silence the voices on one side?



I've been thinking about this a great deal recently. In Justin Isis's short story, Abandoned by God, Unable to Pay Gas, Water and Electric Bills, Unsuccessful for Trying Out at JV Football, Unable to Touch a Ganguro Gyaru's Face for Fifteen Seconds, Incapable of Remembering the Lyrics to Cocteau Twins, Unable to Successfully Learn Para Para Dance Steps, Rejected by Creditors, Incapable of Attaining Enlightenment, Defeated Routinely at Marvel vs Capcom 3, Declared Ritually Unclean by Shinto Priests, Downgraded from 'Boyfriend' to 'Sex Friend', Refused Service at Local Donut Shop, Unable to Touch a Ganjiro Gyaru's Face for Thirteen Seconds, there is the following passage:

The monk led him back through the forest of silver towers, to a clearing where he found the little man standing. He was looking at a sculpture resting on a pedestal. It was fashioned in the shape of a young woman, and at its base was a tiny slot with two metal switches. The little man depressed one switch, then the other, then flipped both.

"Well, what does it do?" Richard Dawkins said.

The little man closed his palm and brought it away from the sculpture, then offered it to Richard Dawkins, who held out his own hand. After a moment he felt something slippery and cold. He looked down. A little golden cube sparkled in the reflected light of the towers. As he watched, it melted in the palm of his hand. He held it to his lips and received a faint taste of cinnamon.

"It provides ice cubes," the little man said. "Some of the ice cubes are gold and others are silver, and others are gold and silver at the same time."

"You mean they're mixed. Their colors are mixed."

"No, that would be absurd. The combined cubes are both gold and silver at the same time."

"But the properties," Richard Dawkins said, "The properties are complementary. The gold and silver mix together."

The little man took another cube from the sculpture and popped it into his mouth.

"Ridiculous! Nothing in the world can be complementary. The gold and silver cubes are both exclusively gold and exclusively silver at the same time. Everything is exactly itself and nothing else. The quality of qualities is that they do not merge!"

"But that's impossible," Richard Dawkins said. "Black can't very well be white now, can it?"

"Can't it? Can't it?" the little man was fairly screaming now. "You might just as soon deny that anything exists at all!"

Then, composing himself, he walked away from the sculpture and stood very straight, facing Richard Dawkins.

"Look here Dawkins, you think I am mistaken, and I think you are mistaken. There's nothing left for us to do except fight to the death."

"I think that's overstating the case somewhat," Richard Dawkins said. "Surely we could agree to disagree?"

"Impossible," said the little man. He signalled, and one of the monks walked over, carrying a tray. On it were a number of rubber bands.

"Choose your weapon, Dawkins," said the little man, taking a thin old band of red elastic. He drew it back and aimed it at Richard Dawkins, who had chosen a thicker green band. The two of them moved several feet apart.

"On your mark," intoned the monk. "Get set...go."

The red elastic band zipped past Richard Dawkins' head. Richard Dawkins feinted to the side, then fired the green band at the little man, striking him in the chest. The little man collapsed to the sand.

"You've killed him," the monk said. "You've won."

Several of the other monks descended on the little man and helped him to his feet. He walked to the other side of Richard Dawkins. Then, without a word he took off his shoes. The monks handed him a box tied with a red lace thread.

"Now you must wear the shoes that can never be removed." one of them said.

The little man accepted the box, glared at Richard Dawkins with a look of immortal hatred, and set off back through the desert.



It struck me as very 'true' metaphysically, that as far as pure ideas are concerned, there is nothing to do but fight to the death. It is also interesting that, in this story, the death incurred is not necessarily literal, fatal death, or meaningful at all, but still results in "immortal hatred".



In her review of The God Delusion, Marilynne Robinson summarises as follows:

Indeed, Dawkins makes a bold attack on tolerance as it is manifested in society’s permitting people to rear their children in their own religious traditions. He turns an especially cold eye on the Amish:

“There is something breathtakingly condescending, as well as inhumane, about the sacrificing of anyone, especially children, on the altar of ‘diversity’ and the virtue of preserving a variety of religious traditions. The rest of us are happy with our cars and computers, our vaccines and antibiotics. But you quaint little people with your bonnets and breeches, your horse buggies, your archaic dialect and your earth-closet privies, you enrich our lives. Of course you must be allowed to trap your children with you in your seventeenth-century time warp, otherwise something irretrievable would be lost to us: a part of the wonderful diversity of human culture.”

The fact that the Amish are pacifists whose way of life burdens this beleaguered planet as little as any to be found in the Western world merits not even a mention.

Yet Dawkins himself has posited not only memes but, since these mind viruses are highly analogous to genes, a meme pool as well. This would imply that there are more than sentimental reasons for valuing the diversity that he derides. Would not the attempt to narrow it only repeat the worst errors of eugenics at the cultural and intellectual level? When the Zeitgeist turns Gorgon, the impulses toward cultural and biological eugenics have proved to be one and the same. It is diversity that makes any natural system robust, and diversity that stabilizes culture against the eccentricity and arrogance that have so often called themselves reason and science.



Memes, like genes, fight for evolutionary dominance. We know that biologcial diversity is valuable, and that dominance of the human race is undoing that diversity and threatening to tip us into catastrophe. But what about meme diversity. Theoretically, this is also favoured, by some, in what we call 'multi-culturalism'. And yet, in a way, meme diversity is even harder to keep in healthy balance than biological diversity, because, as portrayed in the Justin Isis tale, all memes are programmed to fight all other memes to the very death - victory for one side and defeat for the other. The only memes that make some - problematical - attempt to do otherwise are such pluralist memes as Daoism, Buddhism and so on, and even these are not yet entirely free from the 'defeat or victory', 'with us or against us' programming of other memes.

Recently, Momus wrote a blog post about this dilemma - how do the pluralist memes embrace the anti-pluralist memes as part of their pluralism? Or, as he put it, "whether, if we support openness, we must remain closed to the things we find closed, thereby contradicting ourselves."

I left some comments under the entry. I quote from one of them:

The essential issue you've written about (how to be open to what is closed, or whether you should be open to it), really is something that occupies a lot of mental space for me. I do find myself taking sides, but this frustrates me. It doesn't seem to get anywhere. It seems like conflict almost for the sake of it in the end, not in order to arrive at a resolution.

I suppose eternal war of this sort is tolerable if no one is playing to win, but only playing to play. But really to wish to vanquish the enemy, to have no more bambastic [sic], climactic art, for instance... Well, in this particular case, such a victory doesn't really appeal to me. I suppose there might be some areas in which I'd like to see such a victory.



Momus's reply was as follows:

Oh, you can take sides without banishing or vanquishing, Quentin! As Cage says, "We can both live".



We can both live. It seems so obvious. And yet, to many, it is not. To whoever killed Theo Van Gogh, for instance, it was not. Religion is a meme, and memes, as much as genes, seem to be about ensuring the immortality of a particular identity. To attack a meme - merely by disagreeing with it, by having a different meme - is to attack the very source of a person's proposed immortality, or so it must appear to them, depending on the meme.

If it's a case of victory and defeat with all memes, then it is war to the last standing, since all memes must vary slightly. Is that the logical conclusion of all this? One meme, just as genetic engineering and other factors would seem to promise that we are on the road to the dominance of one genetic pattern? Can a world even exist with such lack of diversity, or will it inevitably collapse on itself at that point?

Certainly, I don't know. All this is still a dilemma for me, and a serious question that requires the most serious consideration. One thing that seems sure is this, Sharia Law is not multi-culturalism.

We can both live. We can both live, as long as we are happy to see that even when our memes attempt to fight each other to death, our genes, our bodies, still live, and that, perhaps even in the case of meme-death, the death is not fatal, and immortality is ensured through "immortal hatred".



In The Possibility of an Island, Houellebecq wrote that language seems almost designed for conflict (the battle of meme vs meme), but that in physical closeness (he was talking about sex, mainly) harmony can be achieved. Make love, not war? As Leonard Cohen might say, "You can still get married"? It's easy to hate someone you've never met, because you've only seen their ideas - their memes. It's usually harder to hate someone in their presence, and the presence of their body (I realise there are exceptions here). Perhaps if I have any hope that the war might ever end, or that it might become a war whose only casualities are the 'playing-to-play-not-to-win' casualties of memes, who pretend to die for a while for the sake of the game, it is in the curious idea that people might begin to listen to their bodies more - bodies that can live and let live, so that we can both live, and bodies that know the harmony that is not in language.

Delusions

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How can I be deluded? I am Richard Dawkins.

Oh, hang on, or am I Quentin S. Crisp?

Science works, and if you don't like it, you can fuck off

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The above are the words with which Justin and I were confronted in the debate Justin started on the Dawkins forums. This after being told before simply to fuck off and to go elsewhere, and hilariously, after being told that anyone was welcome on the forums, 'unlike on a Christian forum'. Yeah, yeah.

[Apologies have been exchanged, and I hope this is the beginning of a really interesting discussion.]

The Cell Theory of Organic Life is a Hoax

Justin Isis has started this hilarious, violent, thrilling, romantic and deeply moving thread on Richard Dawkins's website. He invited me to join in, but I'm afraid my contributions have been feeble so far. Anyway, please do feel free to join in yourselves. The more, the merrier, as they say.

[Edit. Guess what. Justin and I have been told to "fuck off" on the Dawkins forums. Ha ha. What a bunch of wankers!... Apology now offered and accepted and apology offered in return (here) for remarks such as 'wankers'.]

Wrong is right

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The first ever gig I went to was a band called Accept, whom some of you may recall, or more than recall. German heavy metal. Pretty good stuff, if you're into that kind of thing, which I was. I wouldn't turn my nose up at it now, either, depending on what I'm doing that evening. Anyway, this band had a song called Wrong is Right. I kind of knew what they meant. It made sense in a nonsensical kind of way. Looking back on it, I find that pretention comes easy to me now, and I can say that the song reminds me of Winston Smith's assertion, in Nineteen Eighty-Four, that he hated virtue and goodness. Sentiments that I can dig.

Now, I have never had that much confidence in my intellectual ability (strangely? someone please say 'yes'). I suppose this is strange, because I did do very well at school, at first, and also at last, though the middle bit was a bit dodgy. I remember graduating from Peter and Jane books ahead of my class (I'd read all of the Peter and Jane series, probably many times over). My teacher said, in that case, I should go to the bookshelf and choose a book that I wanted to read. This filled me with awe. Was I really ready for this? Anyway, I did it. The book that I chose was in the Littlenose series that some of you may know. I had a record of Littlenose stories being read by (I think I'm right in sayin) Bernard Cribbins, who also did a very good Winnie the Pooh. Although perhaps it wasn't Bernard Cribbins. It definitely wasn't Wendy Craig, anyway. There were many parts of the Littlenose record that terrified me, such as the tyrannosaurus rex frozen in ice, extinct for thousands upon thousands of years. Thinking back on that now, I want to shake the hand of the author. Anyway, naturally, being terrified, I wanted more. And I chose the Littlenose book, and to my surprise, found I could read it, and I've never looked back.

So, I think that part of this position I have of believing myself to be wrong (but only part?) comes from a sense of intellectual inferiority. But also, I suppose, I'm just pissed-off with people who are always right, especially if they 'know' it.

However, it does occasionally surprise me to discover that I am right about some things. For instance, I was talking to someone very lovely recently about Unilever, and I said, "I'm sure there's something nasty and dodgy about them, though." I looked them up on Wikipedia, which assured me that they have prizes or whatever for being really ethical bastards. So, to misquote Tom Baker, suddenly I lost confidence. A few days later I saw a story about Unilever. There are protests being made against them for their exploitation of palm oil. Palm oil! I knew it. I fucking knew it was palm oil. That's why I didn't buy Unilever soap last time, stupid!

Anyway, so...

Richard Dawkins.

Now, I have recently, on this very blog, skilfully applied two c-words to this man, which I won't repeat here. I hope he doesn't mind me mentioning his name (it's here on my blog in the comments section), but Robin Davies, perhaps rightly, pulled me up on this. Now, this is where my 'I'm wrong and I 'know' it' policy comes in. Part of this policy (but only part) is a kind of disclaimer, like that at the very beginning of the Tao Te Ching - if I say I'm wrong now, and accept a moment's discomfort and embarrassment, it won't be quite so embarrassing if I change my mind later. And it's good to change your mind. My sociology teacher once told me that's why women have such clean minds - they change them so often. There's a lot of wisdom there.

I'm not saying that I've changed my mind, but maybe I've slightly genetically modified it. I'm not about to apologise for my outburst, for two reasons. Part of me suspects I was right, and also, I'm pretty damned sure I'm just going to do it again anyway, during my next symphony of tourettes (a phrase introduced to me by Justin Isis), so I think if I'm going to apologise, I should at least be economical and save it all up for one big apology on my death bed or something, when my last words, will, I am positive, be, "I'm actually really, really sorry. I'm sorry. Sorry about that. I just, err.... Sorry. [Then dies.]"

Let me put it this way, anyone who's scored with Lalla Ward can't be all bad.

However, let me go on to salvage my pride.

I was talking to someone (and I shan't say who, just in order to protect the innocent), about the whole pink unicorn thing (for those who've just tuned in, Richard Dawkins thinks they don't exist). I'm going to paraphrase, I'm afraid, but I met with this sudden and startling reply to my reference that I'd made a reference to pink unicorns in a story I've written recently (about Annette Funicello, peace be upon her soul).... er this reply:

"If Richard Dawkins doesn't believe in pink unicorns he should burn all his books."

"What?"

Yes, even I, the anti-Dawkins and pro-pink unicorn was taken aback. "Pardon?" I stuttered.

"It's mind-stuff. That's all that Dawkins's books are, mind-stuff, like pink unicorns. The unicorn meme has been around for, I don't know, thousands of years, and will outlive Richard Dawkins. It is alive, in all of us. And that's exactly the same sense (and the only sense) in which Richard Dawkins's books are also real."

So, actually, I'm really behind this campaign. If Richard Dawkins doesn't believe that pink unicorns exist, he really should burn all his books, you know, just to show how committed he is.

My pro-unicorn ally went on:

"Richard Dawkins is doing important work in a very specific field of human endeavour. It's good that there are people like Dawkins out there who are specialists who can concentrate strongly on something, a peel it back, and keep unfolding it. We need that unfolding. But for him then to dismiss everyone who's concentrating on other fields, and unfolding them in different ways, is ridiculous."

So, I suppose that's pretty much my last word on the subject, for this blog entry at least.

Also, I suppose I should add that, although Robin Davies must actually be my alter ego, I have never actually met him. For acting as my super-ego he should be commended. Through the mysterious workings of the universe that have brought you, too, specifically to my blog, where you can bask in the gloriousness of Quentin S. Crisp, Robin Davies also has been brought to me, and perhaps those mysterious workings shall also conspire in such a way that, one day, as I am hacking my way through hordes of Harold Bloom fans with a machete (who have also been sent to me by divine providence), in some Twickenham pub, there will be a very inaccurately tall person in a paisley shirt standing by the 'Who Wants to be A Millionaire?' machine, who, on the urgings of an uncommon impulse, strides through the gore and the grue, and makes himself known to me as none-other-than, and I shall buy him a nice GandT on the rocks, or whatever his choice of medicine might be. Or failing that, a vegetarian pizza.

Okay. I'm spent. Now I'm going to go off and make myself feel good in unspeakable ways.

(PS, as someone in Hard Times and Richard Dawkins would both probably agree, it's certainly in very good taste of me not to have any silly pictures in this blog post.)

Everybody's just doing the best that they can

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I'm coming to see this blog more and more as an actual medical condition.

I'm pretty sure that no one believes me when I say I hate my blog, because the obvious response to that is to say, "Well, why do you carry on writing it, then?" And the obvious response to that response is, "Because I hate it." It's what's known as digging yourself into a hole. Or perhaps as having enough rope to hang yourself.



Actually, there are times I do like my blog, but a lot of the time I find myself thinking, "What on Earth am I doing? I'll have to patch up the damage I've done by writing another blog post." And then I have to patch up the patches and so on.

But I've learnt that there's no use in fighting my condition. I have to use reverse psychology, if I can. Or aikido, perhaps - using the power of the enemy against them. If I have a twitch in my arm that won't stop, perhaps the best thing to do is to become a boxer, so that the twitch has a reason to be, and can become useful and healthy.

It seems like I have conflicting urges. On the one hand I want to explain myself, but on the other hand, I really, really don't. I don't want to be misunderstood, and I do want to be liked, but the first is inevitable, and the second is simply out of my hands. Besides, if I really am to utilise something like reverse psychology on my condition, then I should really revel in being misunderstood. There is a kind of freedom in it, after all. Not only does it free you from other people. It can also free you from yourself.

I do actually feel I'm changing as a person, but those changes - even if I wanted to - are impossible to explain. Perhaps I'm not changing, anyway, except in so far as everyone is changing as they age and decay towards final dissolution. I think what's happening to me is more than that, though. But it can't be put into words. It sometimes seems like most of the problems in the world are created by people believing that the word for something is the thing itself, or, for instance, believing that words like 'Allah' and 'God', because they are different words, indicate two different things. Materialism is just such another example of moronic faith in the literal meaning of words, to believe that 'physical' and 'spiritual', because they are separate words, are actually separate things. I don't trust words, myself.

Perhaps it's strange that I don't trust words, considering the fact that I'm a writer. Again, it's because I'm a writer that I don't trust words. I know very well what slippery devils they are.



In the comments section of a recent blog entry I wrote:

You don't need religion.



Well, this is true. As far as words ever are true. Which is not very far, actually. And because it's not very far, I grew uncomfortable with the statement, and had to qualify it. And then I grew uncomfortable with my qualification, but I didn't qualify that, because the whole thing is never-ending, especially if you think that words can somehow contain the truth, which has been the mistake of Western philosophy for thousands of years. What you're left with is digging yourself into a hole. Giving yourself enough rope to hang yourself.

So, what do I see as the problems or untruths in the statement above? Well, again, to try and explain that, I am going to have to commit some degree of untruth in a different direction. Let's start with what's good or true about the statement, which centres on the word 'need'. No, it's true, you don't need religion, but... Here come the qualifications. You don't need me to tell you you don't need religion, either. More than that, the existence of religion might not be a question of need, anyway, if it's a naturally arising phenomenon. I don't need to choose certain clothes in accordance with my taste, but I do it anyway, because it's natural to do so. Then there come problems with the meaning of the word 'religion'. How far are we going to take this? I suppose I would say that if one's religion has about it something of seeking - seeking to find God, seeking the truth, seeking to convert others in order to build Heaven on Earth etcetera - then no one really needs that. There's something a bit dysfunctional about that. However, a religion might be more to do simply with living than with seeking. It might be a matter of thanking the earth for the food it has given you. That's nothing to do with seeking anything. It's just the way you live. I suppose that I personally, in this sense, have far more sympathy with animistic religions that seem very much 'grass roots' (perhaps even literally so), than with monotheistic religions, which became 'organised', so that we got the dreaded 'organised religions'. I haven't entirely made my mind up, however, whether Christianity (one of those monotheisms) was good until it got fucked up, or whether it was always, inevitably going to get fucked up because of some germ of fanaticism contained within its original inspiration. If we assume for the moment, however, that it was a good thing to start with, then it seems to me it probably went wrong with Saint Paul, who was a cunt. (Excellent, I was wondering this morning who the next person to get called a cunt on my blog would be, after Dawkins, and now I know. It's Saint Paul. Excellent!) Anyway, for a succinct little take on why Saint Paul fucked everything up, you can read this interesting little sketch by Kahlil Gibran. (I wonder whether 'not' in the last line is a typo, and it should have been 'now'? I've got a copy of the book somewhere, but not with me.)

See, I've written two paragraphs since quoting my original statement about not needing religion, in order to qualify that statement, and I've hardly even begun to say all the things that need to be said in order to qualify it properly. Sometimes such qualifications can be great and interesting and elucidating (do I mean 'illuminating'?), but other times they can just make misunderstandings worse, or, more often, they can be a mixture of both. This is the problem with language again. And so, more and more, I feel like just leaving statements in simple form, such as 'Richard Dawkins is a cunt', and just letting people unpack them and see what truth or untruth is in there. And I feel almost as patronising as Richard Dawkins himself (who defines the genre) just in having explained the very little that I have in this post.

I don't hate Dawkins, by the way. Not at the moment, and not in the same way that I do, say, Ray Kurzweil, or Tony Blair. I just think he's incredibly arrogant and misguided and therefore irritating as all hell. And other stuff like that that I can't be bothered to go into. He does seem to suffer, too, from a literal-mindedness when it comes to the meaning of words. For instance, in one book (I don't have it here, so this won't be verbatim), he claims that sycamore seeds (or some other type of seed, can't remember) are "literally" floppy disks. No, they're not, Dawkins. I think this is your literal-mindedness coming out here bigtime. Floppy disks are floppy disks. Sycamore seeds are sycamore seeds. I'm sure that he really believes that imposing the word 'floppy disk' on the thing also referred to as 'sycamore seed', actually makes the latter into the former. He is a cretin.

This literal-mindedness (the mark of a truly shallow man) also comes out in his treatment of religion. In The God Delusion, for instance, he talks about Einstein's use of the word 'God'. First of all, he makes one of his many arrogant and patronising assumptions - the assumption that he understands the sense in which Einstein meant the word better than anyone else does. Naturally, because Einstein is a scientist with a good reputation, Dawkins 'knows' that Einstein's meaning when he said 'God', as in "God doesn't play dice" (or whatever it was), and so on, fits in perfectly well with Dawkins's own philosophy. That's what a cunt this man is. He has to make sure that everything you say and think agrees with his own philosophy, whether you like it or not. "Oh no, Einstein, I think you'll find that what you're trying to say is that you agree with me completely, and I'll speak for you now, if you don't mind, and there's nothing you can do about it anyway, because you're dead." Now, I actually forget what Dawkins suggested Einstein meant by the word (I think he skirted round the issue a bit and expressed it negatively by saying, "He didn't actually mean God" and stuff like that), but what I do remember is that he called this use of the word 'God', by scientists and so on "an intellectual betrayal". In other words, Dawkins cannot stand the idea that a word might have more than one meaning, and specifically, that it might have meanings other than those that he assigns to it. He cannot tolerate ambiguity. He cannot tolerate anything that is not literal. He cannot tolerate anything other than his own one-dimensional thinking. And, of course, in the case of Einstein, even supposing he happens to be right in his presumptuousness about what Einstein meant by the word 'God', he completely ignores things like the following quote:

Science without religion is lame, religion without science is blind.



Anyway, as I said, I don't hate Richard Dawkins, yet, even if he is a cunt, because today, and for the last few days, I kind of feel that everyone is just trying to do what they think is right, anyway. Or are they?

Dawkins probably is, but there are some people, some people out there...

Jay Gould, it seems, once said, "I can hire one half of the working class to kill the other half." Now there was a real cunt. I spit on his grave. In fact, I hate business generally. I am aware of one or two businesses that are being run pretty ethically and in an enlightened manner, but for the most part business is a concatenation of all the foulest aspects of the male psyche. I want to see businessmen destroyed. I want to see CEOs of banks in the gutter, where we can line up to kick them. And it's coming. Make no mistake, it's coming.

Some people are shits.



That's another quote. That one's from William Burroughs. The shits, it seems, are generally at the top, where we can't reach or even see them. I do like to keep an open mind, but I tend to think that people like George Bush (all right, so we can see him), who finds his "base" in "the haves and the have-mores", probably isn't just doing the best that he can, and probably is just a shit. Burroughs advocated (how seriously I can't say), a policy of 'shiticide' - "Slaughter the shits of the world". I wonder if that would work? I wonder, if we could get a reliable list of these shits, whether their removal would do the trick, and finally human beings could get on with each other in peace? Burroughs also refers to these shits as 'Venusians' (no, not literally, Dawkins, you cretin), by which term, I believe, he intends to make a deliberate dehumanising distinction. As I've said, I do like to keep an open mind if I can, and he may well be right about this. It could be that the only problem we humans really have, if we are, indeed, all just trying to do the best we can, is that we're being manipulated and screwed over by a few shitty Venusians at the top. Well, it's worth thinking about, anyway.

And well, as for me, and the way in which I am 'doing my best'... to be honest, I can't really explain. I feel quite lost a lot of the time. I suppose I feel like the whole world is going to change in about two years, and I want to write and publish the fifty million ideas I have for novels before then, while they are still relevant, since we won't recognise the world afterwards, but then again, what's the point? I can feel pretty bitter about this sometimes. I'm sure that in some ways my fiction is pretty shit, but when I read the other stuff that's getting published, I just begin to feel like publishers are a load of cunts. They really should be lining up to publish my stuff. They should be asking me, on a regular basis, whether I have anything new for them.



I've never actually had a single second of fulfilment in my entire existence. I mean, I'm not complaining, really. Well, obviously I am a bit, but I know plenty of people have had worse lives than mine. I just don't understand why we're given dreams and then never allowed to live them. That's not how I'd make the universe if I were God:

Ah Love! could thou and I with Fate conspire
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,
Would not we shatter it to bits---and then
Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!



That, of course, is from the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam.

But, afflicted as I am with various undesirable conditions, such as this blog, I feel that I am caring less and less. My afflictions amuse me more now than they did. There's much more I meant to say here, but I can't remember what it was, and I'm sure it doesn't matter. You wouldn't understand, anyway, and I don't know if I even want you to. And I'm not afraid of dying.

Richard Dawkins makes me want to be a fundamentalist

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The last mention that Dawkins received on this blog - an incidental mention in an entry about something else - was, in my eyes, at least, a favourable one. I would have been happy never to mention Dawkins again. I don't actually go out of my way to find out stuff about him or anything; he just seems to be everywhere I turn at the moment. For instance, I was recently sent the three clips of the Bill Maher show that are posted in this entry, the second of which features a satellite-link interview with the man himself. Unfortunately, I have to say that, of all the material in the three clips, the appearance of Dawkins was, for me, a real low point.



Bill Maher asks Dawkins why he thinks his book, The God Delusion has become such a phenomenon. Dawkins's reply is:

I think people are getting a little bit fed up with other people thrusting their imaginary friends down their throat.



I've said this before, maybe it depends on what circles you move in, but there's absolutely no one thrusting imaginary friends down my throat. There are plenty of tools like Dawkins, though, telling me that I'm an idiot if I don't think exactly the same way they do, and become an atheist. Now, the thing is, I know this programme is a kind of comedy comment show, but elsewhere, even when it's humorous, the observation and comment on the show seems to be pretty sharp. Here, by contrast, the sharpest it gets is mention of 'imaginary friends' and 'talking snakes'. Is this really the level of Dawkins's critique of religion (and Bill Maher loses a few points in my estimation here, too, but he is American)? I honestly can't understand why anyone would think this guy has anything new or cutting edge to say on the subject. The observation here is neither particularly sharp nor particularly funny. It's the same, tired old line about, "What, believe in some old bloke with a big white beard sitting on a cloud?" Maybe I really am underestimating the number of people in the world who actually do believe in an old man with a white beard sitting on a cloud, or in a talking snake in the Garden of Eden, and underestimating the level of their power and influence in the world, but if such beliefs are not beyond the playground level of mental development (and I don't mean that in a good way), then neither is Dawkins's criticism here. There's a line from Nietzsche that goes: "Whomever goes to fight monsters should take care not to become a monster himself. And when you stare too long into the abyss, the abyss stares back into you." I basically feel that this is what has already happened to Dawkins. He has become as shallow and literal in his analysis as the fundamentalists he has chosen for his enemy. God help me, therefore, if I stare too long into the shallow abyss of Richard Dawkins.



He then goes on to repeat what he's said before, in different words, about his agnosticism (which to him is immediately atheism) with regard to 'fairies' and 'pink unicorns'. Again, really cutting edge stuff. Why not mention the tooth fairy and Father Christmas while you're at it? Anyway, I like fairies. I like pink unicorns. In theory. It might depend on the individual fairy or pink unicorn, of course. I don't know what on Earth Dawkins has got against these very lovely creatures. I'd certainly rather spend my time with them than with a boring old git like him. Perhaps you think that it's not the point whether you like these things or not. No, Dawkins is, through these unimaginative conjurations of the imagination, trying to evoke the 'common sense' assumption that they don't exist. He is trying to plug into your common sense, your assumptions, and make them his own, therefore leading you to hear everything he says simply as one of your own 'common sense' assumptions. This has nothing to do with thinking or wanting you to think. It's a method of browbeating you into agreement. "If you don't think like me," his message goes, "you might as well believe in fairies and pink unicorns. And you wouldn't want that, because that would be really doolally pip." So he raises the cudgel of fear. Do you dare defy the Dawkins and be a weirdo? Well, I would much prefer that to being Richard Dawkins.

Here's a poem by Kaneko Misuzu that I translated some years back:

Things not Seen

What happened while you slept?

Pale pink petals fell
As rain in heaps on your bed.
You opened your eyes and they vanished.

Nobody ever saw them,
But who can say it's a lie?

What happened when you blinked?

Pegasus spread his white wings,
And faster than a white-feathered arrow
Disappeared into the blue.

Nobody ever saw it,
But who can say it's a lie?

Who is more imaginative? Kaneko Misuzu, or Dawkins? Who more intelligent? Who more fun to be with? My answer, to all of those questions, based on the evidence, would be Misuzu.



Another quote from Dawkins, referring to his book, The God Delusion:

If this book works as I intend, readers who open it will be atheist when they put it down.



Dawkins even, apparently, has a section on his website called 'Converts Corner'. He is looking for converts. What a cunt. Sorry, Dawkins, but your book has not had the desired effect on me. It has had almost the opposite effect. I have more sympathy with religion after reading your writing on the subject and hearing you talk about it than before.

You know, I very often feel like maybe I'm being unreasonable with the things I say on my blog, or going too far or something, and I like to try and re-evaluate things, and I was softening towards Dawkins and thinking I'd probably been a complete prick, and then I'm confronted with something like this and I think, "Christ, perhaps I'm not as wrong as I always assume myself to be." But the thing is, I don't want to be right, anyway. I just want to be able to be myself, some doolally pip fairy-lover, or whatever. Please, by all means, think I'm wrong about everything. It would probably even take a lot of pressure off me if you did. Unlike Dawkins, I'm not looking for converts.

Now that they've been asked to think about it... they realise that they've been atheists all along.



What Dawkins says from this point onwards applies to me in reverse. For ages I didn't realise it was okay not to be an atheist. I thought somehow it wasn't respectable.

It is okay, though. It's okay.

Richard Dawkins



Gains my sympathy somewhere in the middle and loses it again by the end. Hmmm, incredibly boring sensible assumptions... Ho well.