I am overjoyed that the West Memphis Three are finally free.
I felt personally connected to the case - think about it: Three male adolescents dress in black, have long hair, listen to heavy metal and read Stephen King novels. They have a passing interest in the occult, and they tend to keep themselves to themselves. This sounds like at least half of the teenage male population. I see a great deal of myself in these young men. Why is it, then, that these personal attributes are the only evidence that was presented to a court of law in order to prove that the three were guilty of what the media called the "Satanic ritual murder" of three young boys? Evidence should come in the form of DNA samples, fingerprints, teeth marks, strands of hair, drops of blood, etc. While many of these were found at the scene of the crime, none implicated any of the three individuals, Damien Echols, Jesse Misskelley and Jason Baldwin, in the involvement of the crime whatsoever. The conservative, Evangelical community condemned these three youngsters for no other reason than their refusal to conform. Misskelley and Baldwin were sentenced to life imprisonment, but Echols was sentenced to execution by lethal injection. Unthinkable.
Having been harrassed and vindicated both as a yong child and as a teenager, I relate a great deal to the case, and sympathised with their plight. It was to my delight, then, that the three were released recently as part of a deal involving what has been described as an "Alford plea" - technically a guilty plea, whereby the defendants concede that the amount of evidence is sufficient to convict them, but assert their innocence nonetheless. While it is fantastic, in my opinion, that the Three have been released, it is still ridiculous that the "evidence" presented to the court is considered adequate.
Would you be satisifed withthe evidence thus far? Would you be satisifed that three men have had the unnecessary attention of the world centred squarely on them? That they have been held accountable for a crime that they didn't commit? That this crime has so far gone unpunished?
I believe that the evidence is insufficient to convict these three men of murder, and that it is still necessary for their names to be cleared. Someone else is guilty of the crimes, and needs to brought to justice. In my opinion, justice has -so far - not been dealt.
Exonerate the West Memphis Three
10 September 2011
8 August 2011
Atheist Blogroll
Cotard Delusion has been added to The Atheist Blogroll. You can see the Atheist Blogroll badge in my sidebar. The Atheist Blogroll is a community building service provided free of charge to atheist bloggers from around the world. If you would like to join, visit Mojoey at Deep Thoughts for more information.
1 August 2011
Thanatophobics Anonymous
"I do not fear death, in view of the fact that I had been dead for billions and billions of years before I was born, and had not suffered the slightest inconvenience from it."
Unfortunately, unlike Mark Twain, whose above assertion - although helpful and encouraging - is humorously optimistic, I'm cripplingly terrified of death. I get semi-frequent panic attacks at night in bed thinking about the subject too much. In my attempts to reassure myself, I often tend to read lots about other peoples' fears, such as of spiders, heights, hospitals, or even water. But never of death, an eventual inevitability. The vast majority of other phobias are somewhat avoidable, or at least treatable through repeated exposure, but mine I can never escape from.
I am certainly able, on occasion, to take an objective view of the process and the experience of dying, and in that respect, there is little or nothing to fear. A large proportion of my fear is placed in the possibility of pain, discomfort, and similar sensations. But it is extraordinarily likely that after death, nerve ending in the body would cease to feed "pain" signals - or indeed any signals - to the brain, on account of it being dead. Knowledge of this phenomenon goes a sizeable way towards dissipating that part of my fear. Perhaps my inability to use that knowledge to "switch off" my fear is evidence of habit and nothing more. However, a part, equally large, of my fear is derived from the lack of experience, that is to say the "shutting down" of senses and consiousness. I value my experience and consiousness highly - I thoroughly enjoy my life, and to cease experiencing it is a frightening premise. My own concept of the process is similar to that of the first-person perspective of the eponymous cyborg shutting down in the film "The Terminator". I would be the first, however, to point out that seeing and experiencing blackness is not the same as seeing and experiencing nothing. I have no frame of reference or analogy, and I suppose it is that same unease at "the unknown" that contributes considerably to my phobia.
As a fan(atic) of the horror genre, this presents somewhat of a problem: I mostly enjoy the feeling of being "creeped out", and regularly expose myself to frightening images of death from a purely fictional and elaborately fantastical standpoint. I relate to characters, I often root (unashamedly) for the villains and anti-heroes, and I analyse plot points and other aspects such as music. What can I say? I am a huge fan. And I intend to keep it that way. But unfortunately, this does mean that I am consistently reminded of my ailment. My allegiance to the belief that (at least in my experience) output in the horror genre successfully and safely alleviates a too-often ignored frighteningly primal urge in humanity by presenting it with consciously fictional accounts of fear - and also, my superficial enjoyment of the genre - outweighs my desire to be free of my phobia, and for that reason I fear it will continue to - pun intended - haunt me.
I am certainly able, on occasion, to take an objective view of the process and the experience of dying, and in that respect, there is little or nothing to fear. A large proportion of my fear is placed in the possibility of pain, discomfort, and similar sensations. But it is extraordinarily likely that after death, nerve ending in the body would cease to feed "pain" signals - or indeed any signals - to the brain, on account of it being dead. Knowledge of this phenomenon goes a sizeable way towards dissipating that part of my fear. Perhaps my inability to use that knowledge to "switch off" my fear is evidence of habit and nothing more. However, a part, equally large, of my fear is derived from the lack of experience, that is to say the "shutting down" of senses and consiousness. I value my experience and consiousness highly - I thoroughly enjoy my life, and to cease experiencing it is a frightening premise. My own concept of the process is similar to that of the first-person perspective of the eponymous cyborg shutting down in the film "The Terminator". I would be the first, however, to point out that seeing and experiencing blackness is not the same as seeing and experiencing nothing. I have no frame of reference or analogy, and I suppose it is that same unease at "the unknown" that contributes considerably to my phobia.
As a fan(atic) of the horror genre, this presents somewhat of a problem: I mostly enjoy the feeling of being "creeped out", and regularly expose myself to frightening images of death from a purely fictional and elaborately fantastical standpoint. I relate to characters, I often root (unashamedly) for the villains and anti-heroes, and I analyse plot points and other aspects such as music. What can I say? I am a huge fan. And I intend to keep it that way. But unfortunately, this does mean that I am consistently reminded of my ailment. My allegiance to the belief that (at least in my experience) output in the horror genre successfully and safely alleviates a too-often ignored frighteningly primal urge in humanity by presenting it with consciously fictional accounts of fear - and also, my superficial enjoyment of the genre - outweighs my desire to be free of my phobia, and for that reason I fear it will continue to - pun intended - haunt me.
My own lack of theism means that I cannot find any sort of solace in the belief in an afterlife, and that when I eventually die, whenever that might be, that's it. Goodnight Chicago. But I try not to look at it from that admittedly morbid, and quite frankly upsetting angle. I have been able to find one quote in particular from Professor Richard Dawkins that backs up my own view that this world is a phenomenally exciting place, and that there is no reason at all to be dissatisfied with only this life. My objection with the word "only" in this context is that, if anything, our own existence is an example of such improbability that this earthly life is not something that should be taken for granted:
"We are going to die, and that makes us the lucky ones. Most people are never going to die because they are never doing to be born. The potential people who could have been here in my place, but who will in fact never see the light of die, outnumber the sand grains of the Sahara. Certainly those unborn ghosts include greater poets than Keats, and greater scientists greater than Newton. We know this because the set of possible people allowed by our DNA so massively outnumbers the set of actual people. In the teeth of these stupefying odds it is you and I, in our ordinariness, that are here. We privileged few who won the lottery of birth against all odds: how dare we whine at our inevitable return to that prior state, from which the vast majority have never stirred?"
After spending my early teen years (and an unusually sizeable number of my pre-teen years) hating my life, and even going some way to hastening its conclusion at the tender age of ten after suffering what I perceived at the time to be relentless verbal abuse at the hands (or indeed mouths) of my insensitive and ignorant peers, I had a dramatic change of attitude, loving every second of my life, embracing it, and wishing it to continue indefinitely. Admittedly, I still wish this, but I have only 23 years under my belt, and hopefully many, many more to come. I cannot even hope to know what my attitude will be in five, ten, or twenty years' time. However, I do hope to have come to terms with the one fact of life I seem to have trouble with. In the years I have lived I have learned what I feel are the right ways and wrong ways to "use", for lack of a better term, one's life, and I have not resorted to religion to do so. I feel no guilt or regret, and I am happy and content as a human being.
Ultimately, it seems to me that coming to terms with a fear of death is essentially coming to terms with a fear of the unknown, and frankly, the unknowable. As humans, we can (and I do) strive for knowledge, but we can also strive for humility - in my opinion, a strong argument can be made for humility not being exclusively a Christian virtue. In this case, Socrates' famous quote "True knowledge exists in knowing that you know nothing" becomes strikingly relevant, because although I consider it noble to almost relentlessly pursue knowledge during one's lifetime, there are certainly things that are unknowable, and humbly accepting this is a part of life. At least of mine. I am doing my best, and thanks to Dawkins, Socrates, Twain, and many other sources, for the second time, I think I'm finally starting to heal.
Ultimately, it seems to me that coming to terms with a fear of death is essentially coming to terms with a fear of the unknown, and frankly, the unknowable. As humans, we can (and I do) strive for knowledge, but we can also strive for humility - in my opinion, a strong argument can be made for humility not being exclusively a Christian virtue. In this case, Socrates' famous quote "True knowledge exists in knowing that you know nothing" becomes strikingly relevant, because although I consider it noble to almost relentlessly pursue knowledge during one's lifetime, there are certainly things that are unknowable, and humbly accepting this is a part of life. At least of mine. I am doing my best, and thanks to Dawkins, Socrates, Twain, and many other sources, for the second time, I think I'm finally starting to heal.
15 July 2011
What Would Jason Do?
So, I'm an atheist. As you know, this means I believe there is no god.
I reached this conclusion early on in life - even after being raised Roman Catholic and receiving an Anglican education, I took an early interest in science and my six-year-old self reputedly announced to my mother, right in front of my Catholic grandparents: "I don't believe in God, I believe in the Big Bang Theory".
...I've never been so happy to hear a story from my childhood.
As an angst (and acne)-ridden teenager, I suffered a crippling bout of what I learned afterwards is known as thanatophobia - the fear of death or dying - after becoming fascinated by horror films and general images of morbidity and death. I maintain this fascination, some would say obsession, to this day, but the fictional element of most of my favourite movies is now never forgotten. My phobia has never fully disappeared, but I have been helped and inspired immeasurably by the output of a small handful of authors and socially conscious entertainers, here to whom I intend to pay a brief tribute:
Even if the evidence were not there, common sense dictates that an omniscient "higher power", a creator of all things, is a truly improbable phenomenon. For a start, it raises more questions than it answers, the first I can think of being: "who or what created the creator?" Everything has to be brought into existence by some other means. A stellar explosion such as the Big Bang (caused by phenomena explained by particle physics that even a pretentious - but ultimately undereducated - musician like myself is beginning to understand) would generate enough energy to bring into existence the matter necessary to go about building an entire universe. Leaving the moral concerns aside for the time being, an old man waving a wand just doesn't cut it for me. Go watch Wishmaster if you must, but please, stay out of genuine science lessons.
I am not eloquent enough to put how I feel about religion into words better than any of those mentioned above. I had those feelings before I was aware of their writing, but beyond a juvenile "c'mon, really??" and a mocking expression, I was unable to coherently express them. Carlin put it vastly more accurately and hilariously than I ever could, without me quoting or paraphrasing him. Enjoy:
So let me get this straight: both faiths, Judaism and Christianity, worship the same god, the Abrahamic god Yahweh (or Jehovah, depending on your pronunciation), and both faiths read from essentially the same holy book, the Bible's Old Testament. And the reason they don't get along is because Christians believe Jesus of Nazareth was the messiah, and that he was killed for claiming such by Jews, who don't believe this. That is as concise and clear as I can put it, and yet does this all seem like confusing, superstitious, unnecessary, unquantifiable nonsense?
...And that's before we get to Islam. Muslims worship a god they call Allah, essentially the Arabic word for god. They follow the teachings of Muhammed, a prophet who claimed to have spoken with god. They take their teaching from the Koran, a "holy book". If I may be so bold as to offer an innocent observation, this sounds suspiciously like every other mainstream religion. It seems to me that religion in general is largely united in its outlook, and differs only in geography and, frankly, unknowable details.
Their enemy? Me. Because, and only because, I have found - and announced - that I am incapable of being forcefed a belief system that prohibits natural behaviour and punishes those who seek to educate themselves by alternative ("better") means - 'ideally' by death.
Religion has a higher body count than any comparable fictional celluloid fable. Jason Voorhees is a clumsy amateur in comparison.
I reached this conclusion early on in life - even after being raised Roman Catholic and receiving an Anglican education, I took an early interest in science and my six-year-old self reputedly announced to my mother, right in front of my Catholic grandparents: "I don't believe in God, I believe in the Big Bang Theory".
...I've never been so happy to hear a story from my childhood.
As an angst (and acne)-ridden teenager, I suffered a crippling bout of what I learned afterwards is known as thanatophobia - the fear of death or dying - after becoming fascinated by horror films and general images of morbidity and death. I maintain this fascination, some would say obsession, to this day, but the fictional element of most of my favourite movies is now never forgotten. My phobia has never fully disappeared, but I have been helped and inspired immeasurably by the output of a small handful of authors and socially conscious entertainers, here to whom I intend to pay a brief tribute:
- Greg Graffin PhD - frontman and main songwriter of the punk rock band Bad Religion, and evolutionary biology lecturer at UCLA. Author of "Anarchy Evolution" and "Is Belief in God Good, Bad or Irrelevant?"
- Professor Richard Dawkins - influential evolutionary biologist and author of "The God Delusion" and "The Greatest Show On Earth".
- Christopher Hitchens - impossibly courageous journalist and author of "God Is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything".
- George Carlin (RIP) - legendary late comedian, actor, author, and staunchly outspoken atheist.
Even if the evidence were not there, common sense dictates that an omniscient "higher power", a creator of all things, is a truly improbable phenomenon. For a start, it raises more questions than it answers, the first I can think of being: "who or what created the creator?" Everything has to be brought into existence by some other means. A stellar explosion such as the Big Bang (caused by phenomena explained by particle physics that even a pretentious - but ultimately undereducated - musician like myself is beginning to understand) would generate enough energy to bring into existence the matter necessary to go about building an entire universe. Leaving the moral concerns aside for the time being, an old man waving a wand just doesn't cut it for me. Go watch Wishmaster if you must, but please, stay out of genuine science lessons.
I am not eloquent enough to put how I feel about religion into words better than any of those mentioned above. I had those feelings before I was aware of their writing, but beyond a juvenile "c'mon, really??" and a mocking expression, I was unable to coherently express them. Carlin put it vastly more accurately and hilariously than I ever could, without me quoting or paraphrasing him. Enjoy:
So let me get this straight: both faiths, Judaism and Christianity, worship the same god, the Abrahamic god Yahweh (or Jehovah, depending on your pronunciation), and both faiths read from essentially the same holy book, the Bible's Old Testament. And the reason they don't get along is because Christians believe Jesus of Nazareth was the messiah, and that he was killed for claiming such by Jews, who don't believe this. That is as concise and clear as I can put it, and yet does this all seem like confusing, superstitious, unnecessary, unquantifiable nonsense?
...And that's before we get to Islam. Muslims worship a god they call Allah, essentially the Arabic word for god. They follow the teachings of Muhammed, a prophet who claimed to have spoken with god. They take their teaching from the Koran, a "holy book". If I may be so bold as to offer an innocent observation, this sounds suspiciously like every other mainstream religion. It seems to me that religion in general is largely united in its outlook, and differs only in geography and, frankly, unknowable details.
Their enemy? Me. Because, and only because, I have found - and announced - that I am incapable of being forcefed a belief system that prohibits natural behaviour and punishes those who seek to educate themselves by alternative ("better") means - 'ideally' by death.
Religion has a higher body count than any comparable fictional celluloid fable. Jason Voorhees is a clumsy amateur in comparison.
13 June 2011
Hanging out with the Living Dead
Since I was 13, I've had straight edge.
I got into DC hardcore punk band Minor Threat (via an interview with Davey Havok, vocalist for AFI who were my favourite band at the time), heard their song "Straight Edge", and almost instantaneously related to the message. My friends at the time enjoyed such teenage pastimes as drinking beer and cider, smoking cigarettes and marijuana, and generally ignoring what I feel that life had to offer us at such a tender age. I respected my friends, and as an insecure teenager, craved their approval, but I never succumbed to their almost unbearable peer pressure. The song's lyrics opened my eyes to a legitimate alternative.
Instantly, I was relieved of my peer pressure - although I didn't personally know anyone else who had straight edge, I felt I could identify with a community that had more in common with me than my apparently close-knit circle of what in hindsight I now regard as acquaintances. I didn't need drugs or alcohol to enjoy myself. It was a revelation. The only trouble was, I began to develop an unfortunate superiority complex. I lost respect for my friends, believing I was "better" than them. Adhering to the symbology of this newfound subculture, I drew X symbols on the back of my hands, clutching desperately at every single fleeting opportunity to explain their meaning. I still cringe today at the memory of the preachy, arrogant, insufferable young prick I must have been...
Straight edge, as far as I now interpret Minor Threat frontman Ian Mackaye's intention, is about genuinely respecting yourself, but certainly not at the expense of everyone else. Unfortunately, as I mentioned previously, I learned that important fact the hard way. The song, at only 46 seconds long, is remarkably short compared with the massive subcultural upheaval it kickstarted. The entire lyric consists of two verses, spat at rapid speeds over the top of furious, two-chord hardcore:
Despite the confrontational style of the music and of some of the harsh vocabulary, the opening lyric of both verses makes it clear that Mackaye didn't regard himself as "better" than his narcotic-using peers, and not even particularly different - he just made one different choice. I have to agree. The vast majority of my friends smoke cigarettes and drink alcohol, but I don't pass judgement on them, just as I hope for - and thus far gratefully receive - reciprocation. Without hesitation, I love and respect the hell out of my friends.
I got into DC hardcore punk band Minor Threat (via an interview with Davey Havok, vocalist for AFI who were my favourite band at the time), heard their song "Straight Edge", and almost instantaneously related to the message. My friends at the time enjoyed such teenage pastimes as drinking beer and cider, smoking cigarettes and marijuana, and generally ignoring what I feel that life had to offer us at such a tender age. I respected my friends, and as an insecure teenager, craved their approval, but I never succumbed to their almost unbearable peer pressure. The song's lyrics opened my eyes to a legitimate alternative.
Instantly, I was relieved of my peer pressure - although I didn't personally know anyone else who had straight edge, I felt I could identify with a community that had more in common with me than my apparently close-knit circle of what in hindsight I now regard as acquaintances. I didn't need drugs or alcohol to enjoy myself. It was a revelation. The only trouble was, I began to develop an unfortunate superiority complex. I lost respect for my friends, believing I was "better" than them. Adhering to the symbology of this newfound subculture, I drew X symbols on the back of my hands, clutching desperately at every single fleeting opportunity to explain their meaning. I still cringe today at the memory of the preachy, arrogant, insufferable young prick I must have been...
Straight edge, as far as I now interpret Minor Threat frontman Ian Mackaye's intention, is about genuinely respecting yourself, but certainly not at the expense of everyone else. Unfortunately, as I mentioned previously, I learned that important fact the hard way. The song, at only 46 seconds long, is remarkably short compared with the massive subcultural upheaval it kickstarted. The entire lyric consists of two verses, spat at rapid speeds over the top of furious, two-chord hardcore:
I'm a person just like you, but I've got better things to do
Than sit around and fuck my head, or hang out with the living dead
Snort white shit up my nose, or pass out at the shows
I don't even think about speed, it's something I just don't need
I've got a straight edge
I'm a person just like you, but I've got better things to do
Than sit around and smoke dope, 'cause I know I can cope
Laugh at the thought of eating 'ludes, at the thought of sniffing glue
Always gonna keep in touch, never want to use a crutch
I've got a straight edge
Despite the confrontational style of the music and of some of the harsh vocabulary, the opening lyric of both verses makes it clear that Mackaye didn't regard himself as "better" than his narcotic-using peers, and not even particularly different - he just made one different choice. I have to agree. The vast majority of my friends smoke cigarettes and drink alcohol, but I don't pass judgement on them, just as I hope for - and thus far gratefully receive - reciprocation. Without hesitation, I love and respect the hell out of my friends.
My self-imposed sobriety has earned me abuse, ridicule, and alienation, but it has also earned me self-respect, clarity of thought, and comfortable, pain-free mornings. I will certainly admit that I sometimes enjoy becoming "intoxicated" by social evening atmosphere, lowering my inhibitions (to a point) without a chemical aid. But I have since discovered that pride can be internalised, and to everyone I've vocally judged in the past, I apologise. To each their own.
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