Bradezone

Get in the car. Plug in the music player. Where will the road lead this time? Today the ebb and flow of thoughts have intensified. This is the escape, but that does not imply freedom. Pursuit is constant; only the role I play varies. It’s time to turn on Violence is Golden by the Scanners…

Now the sun is rising, spreading through the sky
Chase my horizons far away
Carrying the break of day
Chase my demons far away
Chase them far away

I’m tired of talking, I guess. I was in a bind, then I drove up to the fast food window, and the girl had way more joy than I’ve seen from anyone in quite a while. This time thoughts still pushed and pulled. There are a lot of good things still happening—did you just see? Today you saw familiar scenery as you made your way back, but it had a new aspect. Something that’s always there at the beginning, when the mystery is still unfolding. It’s lost gradually; it has to lose that. But sometimes it returns for a spell. When you feel the breeze and the songs are alive, you are close to… Now are you beginning to understand why that feeling of dread balances the joy of the moment? Hey, don’t read into that too much, okay? You’ve at least grasped a little bit about what’s going on, because you didn’t come back to it, you came back for it.

It’s a beautiful day—the best we’ve had in a while.

I didn’t think I had it in me. Somehow over my extended Christmas break I managed to read seven books. During the last year or so, I had taken a somewhat involuntary hiatus from reading as I’ve become increasingly demanding of the material I take on. If a book can’t grab me within, say, the first 50 pages, why continue? Fortunately my short attention span, which I happen to regard with esteem, was rewarded by many useful tomes during the last couple of weeks. Allow me to share and recommend.

Haroun and the Sea of Stories by Salman Rushdie — This short novel was suggested to me and my classmates in Dr. McNeely’s Modern World Literature class as one of his favorites. Since I greatly enjoyed the class, it was only a matter of time before I finally gave this a read. It is a whimsical tale of a boy whose father is a revered storyteller, one who loses his talent the day his wife leaves him. Whereupon Haroun meets a water genie who transports him to a fantasy land covered by an ocean that happens to be the origin of all stories. The ocean is under attack, so of course it’s up to Haroun and his wacky friends to fix things. The more I read of this adventure (and this may sound self-promoting), the more it reminded me of the book Ed and I wrote so many years ago—the next book on this list, in fact. Clearly Rushdie threw caution to the wind and probably had loads of fun writing this novel. The giveaway is the motley crew of characters: a telepathic robot bird, an ugly and tone-deaf yet beloved princess, a couple of talking fish, and a water-walking tree with flowers for eyes. Thus my prevailing impression of the novel is one of weirdness, but the author also makes an admirable point or two about family and creativity. In these aspects he accomplishes precisely what Ed and I set out to do with our story.

“That’s the trouble with you sad city types: you think a place has to be miserable and dull as ditchwater before you believe it’s real.”

The Trials of Kelvin and Isaac Reynolds by N. Brad Garrett and J. Ed Long III — Rushdie’s book inspired me to do what I had put off for a long time: critically reread my own novel and make the necessary edits to enhance its readability. The story that Ed and I created in a flurry of absurdist passion was initially completed back in 1995. I finally self-published the novel in 2006, but I knew that minor changes were needed here and there to provide clarity—as much clarity as we intended, at any rate. So this is what I did with pencil in hand a few weeks ago, and I admit I enjoyed taking the bizarre trek with the Reynolds brothers once more after so long a time. The shiny new version is now available in a smaller-sized paperback with improved text layout at Lulu.com, so please do your old pal Brade a favor and nab a copy.

As they descended down a long winding staircase, he noticed that the wall was finely crafted of exotic red meat. Its intoxicating smell reminded him much of the fine trinkets of Converse. As he continued to descend, ingenuity struck Kelvin. He opened his mouth, placed it on the wall, and continued to walk, all the while getting mouthfuls of delicious tenders.

The Language of God by Francis S. Collins — I had started this one a while ago and finally finished it over my break. This is an absolutely fascinating read by one of the world’s foremost scientists—Dr. Collins heads the Human Genome Project, which successfully interpreted the map of our DNA. The author is a Christian who also believes in the theory of evolution and demonstrates that the two are not mutually exclusive. Now if you’re like me, you’ve heard evolution defended by no one except arrogant blowhards such as Richard Dawkins and everyone who posts on Digg. Rising above this fray, Collins does a very respectable job of presenting the pros of evolution in a sane manner—his points on the second human chromosome and the concept of gene duplication are especially compelling. But though he is a master biologist who shares a trust in evolution with the majority of his peers, I personally am still not fully convinced. The author openly admits on several occasions that our data is incomplete and inferences must be made, but he feels that evolution provides the best framework for understanding life on earth when compared to other theories. I for one can’t shake the thought that scientists and theologists alike are missing some key details that will make the story of our existence more palatable. The sharp contrasts between species (and dearth of transition fossils) still puzzle me, and I wonder how gene duplication could really accomplish all of these changes to such a miraculous extent.

I think we’re missing something. My mind is completely open to truth—if evolution is true I will accept it as such. But I need a lot more study. Dr. Collins cites such Christian stalwarts as Augustine and C. S. Lewis who were unafraid to plead ignorance on the issue of our origins. From my own extensive reading of Lewis, he seems to have been a Christian evolutionist as well. And really, is it any less noble for man to have emerged from a primate than from dust? But for me the jury is still out. The main idea I took from the book is that science does not threaten God and that I should continue to embrace the study of it. I’ve always had an intense interest in “how things work” but have sat on my heels for too long. To that end I have put in my subscription to Scientific American and look forward to finding out more about the amazing world God has created and given us considerable ability to understand.

The God of the Bible is also the God of the genome. He can be worshiped in the cathedral or in the laboratory. His creation is majestic, awesome, intricate, and beautiful—and it cannot be at war with itself. Only we imperfect humans can start such battles. And only we can end them.

The Magician’s Nephew and The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by C. S. Lewis — Professor Lewis is my favorite writer. What he does with prose is a gift the likes of which I cannot fathom. I have read much of his Christian apologetics and some of his fiction, yet I never cracked open The Chronicles of Narnia until just recently. I swiftly made my way through the first two installments (according to the Narnia time line), and my opinion of the author is only strengthened. Everything is so perfectly depicted and paced, the characters earn our immediate sympathy, and the story is told with such jubilation and wonder that I simply get swept up in the current. Reading Lewis always reminds me that I have not in fact become uncultured or ignorant when I find myself utterly bored by lesser writers. Just when I’m ready (even as a writer myself) to proclaim film the primarily effective storytelling medium of the present and future, Lewis reminds me of the unequivocal power of the written word.

The Magician’s Nephew shows us how Narnia came to be, through the eyes and experiences of young Digory and Polly, whose curiosity of Uncle Andrew’s dark magic eventually sets them on a whirlwind adventure, introducing us to such enduring characters as Aslan and the White Witch. The second book has of course been adapted to film, and as it turns out a pretty faithful one. Lewis has a special talent for creating truly distinct characters, as each of the four kids elicits different feelings from the reader. Yet we root for them all to triumph, even troubled Edmund, for we all know someone remotely like him. The final chapter is so poignant, so wonderful—a remarkable celebration of imagination and the memories we hold dear.

And Digory could say nothing, for tears choked him and he gave up all hopes of saving his Mother’s life; but at the same time he knew that the Lion knew what would have happened, and that there might be things more terrible even than losing someone you love by death. But now Aslan was speaking again, almost in a whisper:

“That is what would have happened, child, with a stolen apple. It is not what will happen now. What I give you now will bring joy. It will not, in your world, give endless life, but it will heal. Go. Pluck her an apple from the Tree.”

The Book of Five Rings by Miyamoto Musashi — This ancient samurai text, written by a master of sword combat, is a cornerstone of the study of martial arts in Japan and throughout the world. In it the author details his Way of Strategy, a philosophy of combat that requires intense practice, thought, and dedication. The book was a gift from my sister and her husband, and I read the whole thing almost immediately after opening it. Practical truths and keen insight flow freely from its pages, yet these pontifications are framed within the wanton violence of medieval Japan, when shogun warlords ruled with the power of their blades. Musashi goes on to explain the actual sword-fighting techniques of his school, along with their accompanying stances and approaches. I was instantly transported to this alien yet authentic era of brutal combat and artistic refinement, and I came away with a renewed sense of awe for those who are willing to devote their lives to the art of war. As much as some may want to deny it, this art is alive and well and probably will be for some time to come. We should hope that for our own security America continues to be the side whose soldiers practice their art with the mastery they have demonstrated throughout our history.

In general, the Way of the warrior is the brave acceptance of death. Of course, this is true not only for warriors, as even priests, women, farmers, and all sorts of people have sometimes died because of a commitment, or out of shame, but for the warrior it is different.

Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? by Philip K. Dick — Blade Runner, which is based on this novel, is possibly my favorite film of all time. It is dramatically different from the source material, yet it is a credit to Philip Dick that both are amazing and unforgettable experiences. Sure, the main character of both is a bounty hunter named Rick Deckard who specializes in hunting androids, robotic creations that are much like humans except for a very limited lifespan and a troubling lack of empathy. But the similarities don’t extend much farther than that. For one thing, Rick is married in the book, and one of the main plot threads concerns a new age religion known as Mercerism that is practiced by the few remaining citizens of Earth and promotes empathy towards humankind and animals alike. The author’s vision of a future Earth is one of ruin and decay, a place where one’s status is measured by the pet animal he keeps—animals are now alarmingly scarce, after all. Deckard stays because he is the best at what he does, but what happens once he develops a seemingly unnatural affinity for a mere android named Rachael Rosen? There are many fascinating aspects to Philip Dick’s story, and I dare not spoil any of them for prospective readers. The novel that inspired Ridley Scott’s science fiction masterpiece is a masterpiece of its own—they coexist wonderfully, each possessing the greatest strengths of its medium.

Mercer smiled. “It was true. They did a good job and from their standpoint Buster Friendly’s disclosure was convincing. They will have trouble understanding why nothing has changed. Because you’re still here and I’m still here.” Mercer indicated with a sweep of his hand the barren, rising hillside, the familiar place. “I lifted you from the tomb world just now and I will continue to lift you until you lose interest and want to quit. But you will have to stop searching for me because I will never stop searching for you.”

Dear friends and visitors,

I hope that you will each do me the favor of reading my latest essay, entitled The Nine. I believe that I was in the right place, at the right time, and in the right state of mind to allow my soul to be poured out into this work. I would also value your comments, if indeed you are compelled to leave any, on this page.

Regards,

Brad G.

One of the politicians (if you want to use that term) I admire most today is Bill Frist, retiring senator from Tennessee. On his VOLPAC website, you can read an essay written by his 87-year-old father Thomas Frist that reminds me of one of Solomon’s proverbs. I love the practical tidbits that he doles out with the wisdom that only time and experience can bring.

Attention starved, inflatable
An ego that is insatiable
You’ve always been so superior
Avoid eye contact with the mirror
—Helmet, “Insatiable”

When pride comes, then comes disgrace,
but with humility comes wisdom.
—Proverbs 11:2 (NIV)

During my most recent tour of duty through the halls of an American institution of higher education—one that, for the most part, admirably promotes Christian ideals—I found myself surrounded on all sides and at nearly all times by an ongoing construction project. The builders were passionate about their undertaking, their dedication unparalleled. You see, they were, and still are, perpetually building up themselves. Whether embellishing the irrelevant pseudo-accomplishments of their past or interjecting nuggets of non-wisdom into every conversation, these paragons of pomposity continually spew forth their ignorance like so much anthrax.

Perhaps I have spent too much time either gently serving the volleyball of self-deprecation or executing the occasional spike of ironic aggression, but there exists in this region of our great nation a distinct lack of appreciation for these vital brands of humor. In its stead lies a wasteland devoid of the refreshing waters of humility, a landscape made desolate by those who incessantly claim to know all about gardening but prove strangely incapable of performing any sort of task reflecting such apparent expertise.

Tired of the metaphors? Allow me to offer some pragmatic suggestions. If you played collegiate soccer on an intramural level, don’t talk about how incredibly you performed “on the pitch” during your heyday. At best you’re Uncle Rico without the cool van. If you claim to have had an active and prolific dating life, keep in mind that most of the free world considers a date as involving only two people, neither of whom is a chaperon. If you are playing paintball for the first time in your life and announce to your teammates that you have the perfect winning strategy because you “know all about military tactics,” you will lose all shreds of credibility when you subsequently reveal that this know-how has resulted from playing lots of Halo and involves no actual military experience. And if at some point in the past you were fortunate enough to secure a date with a girl who is “really hot,” you may want to consider that this had little to do with your awe-inspiring charisma and even less to do with your protruding fat roll. In fact her thought process was probably more along these lines: “Aww, isn’t that cute! This decidedly average guy worked up the courage to ask me out. Since I’m comfortably self-assured, I see no harm in going out on one date with the big galoot. Plus, providing him with something to brag about to his friends for the next ten years seems like a nice way to help someone less fortunate.”

Basically, all these examples and analogies boil down to two words: reality check. I can easily see why this is such a problem near the border of the Carolinas. The Bible Belt often seems to be buckled one notch too tight, the wearer trying his hardest to appear as if he has spent hours running around the block instead of shuffling to the cupboard for another Moon Pie. Many here are obsessed with establishing their credibility, or more precisely, their “street cred.” Longing for a life of more adventure and greater intrigue, they desperately concoct an image of themselves that will duly impress their fellow actors. And of course, those in the play are only too happy not to disrupt it, gleefully accepting the other characters as real persons, readily substituting the theatrical for the biographical.

The solution to this problem of self-glorification is manifold, but my first advice to all guilty parties is this: if you find yourself approximating the behavior of a human incarnation of Wikipedia, by all means drop out of the conversation immediately. If what follows is stone silence, it likely indicates that you were the only one who cared about what was being said. I have long believed that the only thing worse than lacking self-confidence is having a surplus of it, and nowhere is this principle clearer than in these glorified prattlers, the type who, for example, resent those with honorary doctorates, because they fancy themselves even more deserving of such a title.

Perhaps the problem stems from our repression—you know, that dirty word that always gets tossed into the face of the “religious right.” Zealous to combat this accusation, we add a dash of mythology to all our anecdotes, striving to be oracles of wisdom or just darn good raconteurs. Look, hardly any of us in conservative Christian circles are world-class athletes, self-made millionaires, or, for crying out loud, gigolos. So can we stop pretending? Here, I’ll go first: I’m overtly pale, in impressive debt, and my receding hairline is a force to be reckoned with. Guess what? These things make me human, and coming to terms with them is like taking a shower of integrity that washes away the filth of pretense.

I leave you with this final thought, o captivated readers. Do you engage in a given activity primarily to “pad your resume” or to have something to brag about later? What empty and unsatisfying reasons! Why not act with greater purpose? Why not seek to enrich your own life, putting away those trifling motives? Why not keep some experiences, even the most fascinating, to yourself? But most importantly, why not remain silent when your knowledge of a subject barely encompasses the elementary? You may find that by following these steps, you will gain with minimal effort that which you were trying much too hard to obtain unworthily: respect.

“Do not worry about your difficulties in mathematics; I can assure you that mine are much greater.”

A teenage girl had written a letter to Albert Einstein requesting help for her homework assignment. The eminent physicist replied with the desired assistance and this reassuring statement. Einstein typifies the curiosity common to every human being, but there are so many things to be curious about, and even if one limits his or her curiosity to a single field of study, one probably will never reach that “holy grail” of total mastery.

My recent casual reading about Einstein led me down a typical Google/Wikipedia learning spree, with two paramount links emerging from the rest: Time Magazine’s 100 Most Important People of the Century and Wikipedia’s List of Holy Grails. The Time link is a fascinating overview of a horde of luminaries, especially within the “Leaders” and “Scientists” sections. The Wikipedia link provides a handy reference of the currently unsolved problems in all the major branches of science. When I had finally had my fill of reading for the time being, I realized the common thread linking me to these various individuals is my innate curiosity. I have previously stated that the thing I value most is Truth, and what is curiosity but a search for some truth that we believe is important to us? Perhaps the quest for truth could be considered humanity’s “raison d’etre.” This seems to be compatible with most systems of belief, since they tend to present their respective precepts as “truth.” The job is left to us, both individually and cooperatively, to determine how much truth each system actually possesses.

The title of my essay has a double meaning. In the sense that I have talked about thus far, we are born with a compulsion to be curious. But another reason I am writing this relates to my status as a college student and thus one who is compelled by professors and their assignments to be curious about some particular material at some particular time. This compulsion, as most of us know, is less desirable and more stressful. The value of education depends upon the synchronization of the class material and the student’s interest in that material. I for one would love to turn this interest level on or off as necessary, but that is not how life works, right? But I prefer not to dwell on this aspect of my topic any longer.

The number 4 keeps cropping up as a means of organization in scientific history: the four elements, the four humours, and the four fields of nature, for example. I happened to notice this after I came up with four means by which I believe we obtain data, which leads to knowledge, which hopefully leads to truth: observation, emotion, perception, and reception. I just realized that if these are sorted in a different order, their first letters form the acronym ROPE. A brief summary of these follows.

Observation is simply our interactions with our material environment in the context of the passage of time. It is noticing the world as it is, unaffected by our subjective thoughts. To what extent our observation is marred by these subjective thoughts (or perceptions) is a constant matter of philosophical debate that I will not discuss here. For now I am only saying that as far as it is possible, observation is one means by which we satiate our continual and innate curiosity.

Emotion consists of our feelings, which so often seem to exist independently from our rational thinking. Entire literary and philosophical movements have emerged which emphasize one or the other and explore their relationship, so I feel no need to say more of that dynamic here. Only I am stating that emotion is an integral part of our humanity and perpetually affects how we assimilate information. It comforts, it convicts, and it colors our opinions.

Perception is synonymous with our aforementioned subjective thoughts. The conclusions that we draw from observation, emotion, and reception form our perceptions. In a sense perception is our final authority, but because no two people’s perceptions are exactly alike, should we say that truth is relative? This is a debate for all time. The fact that our perceptions are constantly changing (however incrementally) should reveal to us that none of us are likely to achieve a state of knowing absolute truth, at least in this mode of existence we currently inhabit. (Whether another mode exists is the primary concern of religion and is a subject worthy of its own separate essay.) A Christian believes one thing, an evolutionary atheist another, a pragmatic deist yet another. All may be convinced that their way is true, and all are ultimately basing their beliefs on perception, with varying degrees of importance given to emotion, observation, and reception.

Reception is our obtaining knowledge through the ever-expanding works of human expression compiled and preserved. Primarily these include writings and art, everything from the Bible to The Origin of Species to the Mona Lisa. A staggering amount of an educated person’s knowledge is gained from reception, which in many cases cannot be corroborated with direct observation. Any belief system, whether scientific or religious, demands faith where there can be no absolute certainty. Arguments rage between those whose knowledge gained through reception have led them to their respective opinions, and the sheer amount of material available for reception virtually guarantees that these arguments will continue for some time to come. But arguments are themselves vehicles for reception and are a vital means of shaping the beliefs of individuals and cultures.

These four means of information assimilation are ever cooperating and competing in order to satisfy our curiosity. Much like Einstein, we are driven by the search for truth yet frustrated by that search all along life’s way, always constrained by our current perceptions yet willing at various times to change them.

Conflicting emotions, bemusement, pointless pondering, is it just a number, slowly processed, incomplete, the end of something, soul weight, plans, reliance, come on stick to the gameplan, fight it out, out here, outside the fray, headcase, case in point, will you no longer argue, make you laugh, ease the weight, we get along but are we together, accomplishments sure, but the undone, where is my focus, how will it end…