My Old Self: Gender in Metroid

Oct 9, 2010 | No Comments yet

I decided to let nostalgia take the reigns and I dug up some old assignments from college and high school. This turbid look into my old self will hopefully motivate me to continue changing, hopefully for the better.

Class: Video Games and Virtual Identity, April 14th, 2009

Gender in Metroid

The classic Nintendo game Metroid features a lead heroine by the name of Samus. In the original game, the heroine is only revealed as a woman after beating the game. The player may or may not know the character is a female until that time. Although many video games that feature a female protagonist are often ridiculed for being sexist, anti-feminist, or fetishized, the premise behind making Samus a woman is to surprise the player at the end of the game. This strategy may have worked for the original Metroid, but later installments required more of a play on her femininity in the midst of alien insurgence. Metroid shows a female protagonist challenging audience assumptions of gender roles in video games, as well as how the evolution of a character’s development in a series could help perpetuate gender stereotypes, or perhaps defeat them.

The game begins with Samus standing at the base level, just released from her ship. Garbed in a full-body space suit, she is able to move either to the right or the left of the stage. A single-fire plasma gun occupies an entire arm, while the other arm is free-moving. The suit is metallic orange/yellow, interpreted as bronze, copper, or gold plating. The helmet is a dark red with a bright green visor. The detailing in the suit is a darker green. By all intent, the character could very well be a robot or some sort of cyborg. There is no indication that the character is a woman.

The abilities Samus has to begin the game are limited. It is only through a series of discovering the various power-ups throughout the game that she can obtain all of her original abilities. The first ability she acquires is fire power for her arm-mounted canon. She can primitively jump and shoot from the beginning of the game. She can also duck and roll into a small ball, thus traversing through tight quarters. This, perhaps, is the first sentiment of femininity in the game: acrobatics and evasion take equal importance with shooting and dexterity. Several sequences in the game require the player to take speed over perfection. In other words, the player must sacrifice killing all of the aliens in order to escape the rising lava pit. The game was released in 1986, in the midst of an arcade-esque pique in video games, but does not rely on score. Instead, this game is clearly about the narrative of the main character, who, until the very end, has no clear motive or history.

Obviously the character cannot be kept a secret any longer. Later installments of the Metroid franchise had to reveal Samus as a female from the beginning. Super Metroid, the sequel to the first game on the Super Nintendo, expanded upon the suit detailing of Samus. The hips became a little wider, as well as her chest; however, the model could still be interpreted as a man. For example, the shoulders were drastically enlarged, and the details were akin to a more sci-fi appeal (hoses for oxygen, LED lighting, etc.). The true mark of feminism in Samus came from the game’s end. Instead of destroying the Metroid, Samus took it into her care with feelings of motherhood. The Metroid, however, is a parasitic alien species.

Later installments of the series pushed Samus into the 3D realm. This is where the creators really fleshed-out Samus’ role as a woman. The perspective became first-person instead of third-person. The player now saw Samus’ reflection in the green visor of the helmet. The hands were also visible at times, showing explicit femininity. Her voice is heard for the first time in the Gamecube series as well. Whenever she is hurt or regains health, there are distinct gasps of a woman’s voice. The Metroid Prime games were geared toward Samus’ role as a vulnerable space pirate placed in the most dangerous parts of the galaxy. This vulnerability is also an attempt to expand upon her femininity.

Although many video games portraying a female as the protagonist could be interpreted as sexist or fetishized, Samus from Metroid exhibits the kind of heroine that most feminists could admire. The premise behind the original Metroid played with the assumptions of the audience and possibly caused some people to reflect upon why they assumed the main character was a male and not a female. Later installments of the series possibly took the image of Samus back from the original vagueness of the character. However, each new game reveals a new, slightly different approach to femininity and character development.

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My Old Self: Bomberman

Oct 8, 2010 | 3 Comments

I decided to let nostalgia take the reigns and I dug up some old assignments from college and high school. This turbid look into my old self will hopefully motivate me to continue changing, hopefully for the better.

Class: Video Games and Virtual Identity, March 5th, 2009

Bomberman’s Diseases

Living in Sapporo, Japan for one year revealed some interesting cultural nuances I had never considered to be strictly Hokkaido wa dekaido; this terms literally means, “Hokkaido is gigantic.” The stigma there is roughly synonymous to how the continental United States views Canada, or maybe Alaska. Hokkaido, to most Japanese, is its own country apart from Japan, full of mystery and “in the boonies.” That attitude resonates throughout Hokkaido, including its largest city, Sapporo. As a result, anything that comes from Hokkaido with some cultural impact generates pride in its people. A few years ago, the Sapporo Ham Fighters won the Japanese championships in baseball. The party following the victory lasted over a month. Stores were shut down and schools were delayed in lieu of the celebration. As for famous companies, few come from Hokkaido. However, one successful video game did come from Sapporo. Hudson Soft, a small computer software developer based in Sapporo, created a game in the early eighties called Bomberman. The success of this game may still be witnessed throughout Japan, but is largely popular in Sapporo. Because the pride of this character in Sapporo holds strong, I had no choice but to purchase my own copy of the game for my Wii through its online marketplace. Bomberman has dozens of quirky cultural references, but one in particular reveals itself as truly Japanese, and more specifically Hokkaido-esque. The disease power-up in the game, represented by a flashing skull, reveals meaning in a formal, cultural, and experiential way to further develop a system of communication between the developers and the players.

Bomberman is an action game which follows the story of Bomberman, a cute cyborg wishing to escape the bonds of industry at the bomb factory. Violence permeates throughout the goal of the game as the only method of escape is by using bombs to destroy the other bombermen. Strategies include trapping the enemy using bombs and the environment; some walls are bombable, while others are not. Each player receives standard bombs from the beginning, which are weak and limited to one (the player must wait until the bomb explodes before laying another). However, several power-ups emerge from wrecked walls which provide increased fire range, kicking ability, extra bombs, and a multiple bomb placement ability. There is one power-up which is not a power-up at all, but rather a “disease,” represented as a flashing skull. This symbol holds particular meaning to the game.

The skull disease is the only item which generates a random outcome. The player may receive reversed controls, slow speed, downgraded bombs, or the frightening hyper speed. If one player touches another, the disease is spread; that is, the disease is not passed on, but remains both in the original player and the touched player. Only time will heal the infected. When the disease infects a player, a terrible bass-synth noise interrupts the otherwise upbeat, ongoing music. On a formal level of meaning, the symbol obviously represents a dangerous quality. Unlike the other power-ups, this symbol flashes and lacks color. It is also the only symbol whose sound effect is in a minor scale, thus prompting a worried response from the participant. As a skull is a universal symbol for danger, death, or poison, it is no question that the player should automatically avoid this power-up in order to succeed. In this way, the developers provide a discernable meaning to the symbol.

Culturally, the symbol, in its representation, is largely universal. A skull, by most standards, denotes danger. However, the subsequent outcome of obtaining the disease is highly cultural. The reversed controls, for instance, is a product of non-linear design rising from cultural issues in Japan during the early eighties. Just as the story of Bomberman highlights a struggle against corporate life and the need for escape, so too does this altered state of controls reflect the idea of changing the mundane. It is also important to realize that the diseases spread and not passed. In Japan, it is considered customary to wear a mask if one is ill, even with a common cold. Everyone carries his own tissues (used often as toilet paper) and holds a high regard for public sanitation. In Bomberman, these values emanate from the spreading of the disease; interaction between players becomes a struggle for survival based on avoidance rather than blatant confrontation. Although the violence of bombing one another seems radically overt, the strategy by which this is achieved often rewards those whose approach is subversive, manipulative, and non-confrontational. Therefore, the cultural meaning of the symbol is not in the shape, but rather its outcome.

On an experiential level, the symbol is a direct representation of the designer/player interaction. Even though the game may be challenging enough, the disease offers an extra level of difficulty and strategy. The outcome of these diseases reveals both the curiosity and the laziness of the designers. The curiosity comes from the reversed controls disease. This stretches the imagination of the code used in the game, and probably was added as an experiment with the game physics, as programmed by the designers. An interesting bit of laziness also comes from the code, though. When a computer-controlled enemy obtains the hyper speed disease, it becomes impossible to win. The speed does not accommodate for the Artificial Intelligence (A.I.). Instead, the computer completes the actions it was originally programmed to do, but now at ten times the speed. So, any human player would be incredibly disadvantaged at getting the hyper speed disease, but also if a computer player got the disease as well. The outcome of this symbol, in an experiential sense, reveals much of the interaction between the player and the original developers.

Although Bomberman represents only a small portion of Japan, the game has enjoyed success throughout its history. The farther from Hokkaido the game travels, the less the symbols in the game mean to the players. However, in its formal sense, the symbols remain intact and generate meaning contextually. On a cultural level, the symbols bear more meaning in Hokkaido, less in Japan, and even lesser in the United States. The experiential level of meaning shines in the intended meaning of the symbols created by the developers and the subsequent, non-intentional meanings extrapolated by the participants. By playing Bomberman, perhaps one could see true meaning in, “Hokkaido wa dekaido.”

I was a bit off the mark on a few of these statements, but it is interesting that this essay ever existed.

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My Old Self: Hacktivism

Oct 7, 2010 | No Comments yet

I decided to let nostalgia take the reigns and I dug up some old assignments from college and high school. This turbid look into my old self will hopefully motivate me to continue changing, hopefully for the better.

Class: Political Campaigns and Social Movements, December 9th, 2008

Analyses of Two Hacktivist Messages

Introduction

During the life of a social movement, certain messages resonate as time-tested memories in the minds of its followers. These messages may be prominent words or phrases, specific quotes from a key member, or even nonverbal symbols. No matter where the origins of these messages derive, their use has no question as to the impact of their meaning to its audience. Certain words become standard vocabulary; phrases become idioms and eventually cliché; quoted speeches no longer retain its original speaker’s voice. The language of a social movement slowly generates its own power in shaping the members’ perception of reality. Eventually a social movement will require all messages, no matter how small, to use this new sublanguage. Depending upon the use of such language, different functions and characteristics guide the social movement members to react, associate, act, and retain according to the message’s intent. These characteristics are identification, polarization, tactics, narrative, and transcendence. There are several classifications within each of these characteristics to further describe a social movement’s communication strategies. Hacktivism, for example, uses all of these characteristics to some degree in order to convey similar, consistent communication throughout the entire movement, no matter who is creating the message. Two examples of this kind of message creation will aid in understanding how all of these characteristics must cooperate in order to effectively communicate. In one instance, a prominent figure in the hacker community, Paul Graham, writes an essay to fellow hackers on how to become a great hacker and plan one’s future. In an incredibly different approach, another message created by a hacktivist organization, The Cult of the Dead Cow, highlights the characteristics revealed through one of their hacking programs. Both messages reveal the hacktivist social movement’s use of identification, polarization, tactics, narrative, and transcendence.

“Undergraduation”, an essay by Paul Graham, renowned hacker

Identification

Graham never explicitly refers to the reader as a “hacker.” Instead, he naturally assumes that whoever is reading the essay is curious about hacking. As a result, Graham identifies himself with his readers preemptively. He introduces his essay by stating, “I was certainly a hacker, at least.” Not only is he pronouncing his role as a hacker, but including the phrase, “at least,” implies that being a hacker should be a standard. This one simple sentence both creates a common ground and uses specific language to create some form of identity. To further supplement his point, Graham later states that, “…hackers at every college learn practical skills, and not by accident.” This statement also creates a common ground among all hackers, saying that each one intentionally seeks knowledge that is beneficial to function in society. Therefore, if a hacker wants to learn how to infiltrate a database, he will do so by actually infiltrating a database. To a hacker, there are no hypothetical situations, only opportunities to practice. In this respect, this same sentence also functions as a way to appeal to common attitudes and beliefs of hackers. There are other points of identification within Graham’s message. For example, he generally refers to universities, professors, and career paths as legitimate and necessary. However, these same institutions are also “the system.” And as Graham cleverly points out, a system will always be vulnerable to a hacker. In other words, he does not rely on the system but refers to it. An institution is a tool, and a hacker is the craftsman. Take away the tool and a craftsman remains; take away a craftsman and nothing remains. This mentality resonates throughout Graham’s essay, which further creates a common ground, utilizes an implied “we,”, and creates groups and group actions. In creating this implied “we” Graham effectively submits to utilizing Polarization.

Polarization

The concept of polarization requires messages that categorize people, ideas, beliefs, groups, and any other ideas. One of the most effective forms of polarization is identifying the devils of a movement. To a hacker, the established order offers a large group to be considered as their devil. In Graham’s essay, for instance, he mentions that, “…In your own projects you don’t have to worry about novelty (as professors do) or profitability (as businesses do).” Graham slams two groups in one swoop. He accuses professors of being too institutionalized and misguided, while businesses are simply a cash-in/cash-out operation. Graham even goes on to say that Computer Science (his own field) is too caught up in trivial exercise and should implement more interesting, difficult problems. He says that video games require more from the student in creation, but little production for the university. Therefore, menial tasks, like database creation and implementation, are preferred, since the university could use it. The only solution Graham offers is that the individual hacker must be able to seek out his own projects and interesting problems. In other words, Graham polarizes hackers from institutions, the former relying on intellect and aspiring for challenge, and the latter misusing and misunderstanding their greatest asset (the hacker). Graham’s favorite method of polarization must be the use of ridicule. No other section is more relevant than his stint on social sciences versus natural sciences and math. Graham states that, “…the social sciences are also fairly bogus because they are so much influenced by intellectual fashions.” This bold statement ridicules over half of the legitimate fields of study in college, yet comes off with ease. Graham neither reconsiders his stance nor defends it. He treats it as a fact, thus polarizing math-based hackers from the bogus scholars, all by using ridicule. The method of using ridicule is not limited to Polarization, but is an effective language Tactic in social movements.

Tactics

The two main tactics Graham uses in his essay are Ridicule, as previously mentioned, and Labeling. In general, Graham uses ridicule only to the point of accusing other parties as being inept and or stupid, which is merely the third level of ridicule. As mentioned in the previous section, he already used ridicule to claim that social sciences are inept and stupid, calling them, “bogus.” Another instance of ridicule occurs when Graham speaks about finding the right professors. He claims that most professors are too busy writing books about trivial subjects nobody cares about. This gross generalization is ridicule in its second stage: illogical and irrational. Graham generalizes that most professors illogically will work on novelty riff-raff instead of working with great hackers, such as the implied readers of Graham’s essay. But ridicule is not the only tactic present in Graham’s writing. He also uses Labeling quite frequently. Although most instances of ridicule in Graham’s essay could also be considered labeling, there are still cases of labeling used throughout the message. For example, Graham offers some advice as to whether or not his readers should go to grad school, to which he states, “…grad school is professional training in research, and you shouldn’t go unless you want to do research as a career.” This statement misses a lot of points in reality, but does a great job at deflating the image of grad school as an institution. Remember, hackers work to tear down the image of corporations and institutions as taking over human lives. Each individual is worth something, and each case is special. This point is more clearly defined through Narrative, as Graham so aptly utilizes.

Narrative

Narrative is effective in any social movement in order to chain the members’ experiences, recollections, and retentions. An excerpt of a small narrative from Graham’s essay reads as follows:

This is why, when I became an employer, I didn’t care about GPAs. In fact, we actively sought out people who’d failed out of school. We once put up posters around Harvard saying “Did you just get kicked out for doing badly in your classes because you spent all your time working on some project of your own? Come work for us!” We managed to find a kid who had been, and he was a great hacker. When Harvard kicks undergrads out for a year, they have to get jobs. The idea is to show them how awful the real world is, so they’ll understand how lucky they are to be in college. This plan backfired with the guy who came to work for us, because he had more fun than he’d had in school, and made more that year from stock options than any of his professors did in salary. So instead of crawling back repentant at the end of the year, he took another year off and went to Europe. He did eventually graduate at about 26.

There are several key values Graham touches upon in this short narrative. First, he delegitimizes the institutional system, claiming that ignoring GPAs and failing from school are requirements rather than deterrents. He pushes the idea that being a great hacker does not directly translate to being one other university student. This is another form of polarization. In the end, of course, the hacker achieves his goals and becomes the poster child for all hackers who do not care about grad school or the institutional norms. Stories of hackers achieving the ultimate goals in life through non-institutional means are examples of fantasy themes. Most other messages within the social movement of hacktivism work to create an idea of a society without institutional and corporate control. Hackers have the ability to cheat and defeat the system, and this ability should lead to the destruction of that system. It is not a matter of trivial personal gain, but rather an important step in saving society. This, of course, transitions into Transcendence.

Transcendence

Graham takes notice of what is important and what is unimportant to the lives and futures of hackers. He refers to these two groups in such a way that the hacker will no longer see the social movement as a task. Rather, it is a duty. Because of that characteristic, Graham transcends hacktivism from merely and activity to the duty of hackers in society. He does this by using the Argument from Value. For example, when Graham speaks of the social sciences, he claims that all fields outside of math are fairly unimportant. More specifically, he states, “…The worthwhile departments, in my opinion, are math, the hard sciences, engineering, history (especially economic and social history, and the history of science), architecture, and the classics.” This is only the first step for a hacker to transcend the institution to being a great hacker. After learning under one of these fields, a hacker must actively seek hard problems and solve them alone. No matter what institution may fall from the product of these experiments, a hacker must do it to learn. Remember, expulsion from the system is a gift, not a curse. The ends justify the means if the values exceed the costs. The cost, as Graham so aptly outlines, are minuscule in comparison to the reward, which is the obtainment of knowledge.

Goolag Scanner, a program built by The Cult of the Dead Cow

Identification

It may seem odd to consider a program to be a well-constructed, value-laden message to a social movement. However, hacktivism is at the forefront of revolutionary reform by means of technology-based tactics. With this in mind, it is important to recognize a program as the identity of a hacker, if not his very soul. Therefore, even though the language is not explicit in defining what the Goolag Scanner is, the function of this program is essential in understanding how the identity of a hacktivist movement is clear. The Goolag Scanner allows a user to search a specified domain for sensitive data. The automated hacks associated with the program each exploit vulnerabilities with the Google server. The existence of this software speaks loudly of the manifesto of a hacker: “down with the system.” However, more explicit statements of identity do exist throughout the use of this program. For instance, upon installation, the program automatically displays an introductory statement, known as a “splash page.” The statement first reads, “Goolag Scanner is a Web auditing tool.” This is a cyberspace form of “flipping the bird” to any institution wishing to sue the Cult of the Dead Cow. This one statement successfully fulfills two functions: legally protects the Cult of the Dead Cow for creating software used by administrators for security detection, and annoys corporate America. This adheres to the fifth function of Identification by using specific language. All hackers will know why that sentence is there. The statement also instigates the creation of groups and group actions. As a program, the Cult of the Dead Cow tries to recruit new members, which falls within the third tier of Identification. The Goolag logo also mimics Google’s logo, creating a visual symbol to further anger the institution and group hacktivists together. The most important element of Identification for the movement and this software is the User Interface, or simply UI. The UI is beautifully easy to understand and navigate. As a result, anybody willing to learn and join the movement will have a smooth transition. This easily creates a common ground, as most hackers request a lot of individual coding and work, which could deter people away. The UI also adapts content to a specific audience; the simplicity is meant for a broad group of people, not just the select few in the Cult.

Polarization

The immediate impact of the splash page already addresses who is the devil and who is the savior. Google, of course, is the main target here. By identifying Google as the devil through its parody logo and directly linking to Google’s Terms of Service, the Cult of the Dead Cow also polarizes by using ridicule. The ridicule continues on their splash page when stating, “We would like to thank everyone who contributed, especially Google, without whom this fearsome software would not be possible.” Also, it is important to note the actual function elements of the software while considering polarization techniques. The inclusion of such functions as searching for credit card information, corporate database structures, network outlines from major corporations, and brute force attacks on passwords all target corporate America. No automated hack is included that would destroy or hinder smaller groups. Everything is meant to inflict harm upon corporations and dismiss the legitimacy of Google. Ridicule, however, is still their strongest tactic.

Tactics

Really, the only tactics used by the Cult of the Dead Cow is ridicule. An argument could be made for labeling, but this is simply redundant in mentioning the definition of the devils and expressing the “symbolic reality” set up by the Cult of the Dead Cow. Focusing on ridicule, however, clearly exposes this hacktivist group’s most widely used tactic. Aside from the former mentioning of Google’s logo parody, linking to Google’s Terms of Service, and the blatant attack within the splash page, there is one more major element of ridicule utilized by the group. It rests within the group’s own definition of created terms. What they call the individual hacks within the program is, “dorks.” These “dorks” were dubbed by a famous hacker and borrowed by the group. Although the use of this term more accurately mirrors the use of identification through language, the implications of its meaning is a direct attack at Google’s mistake of building a structure upon weak grounds. The hacks to security are so obvious that the hackers call them “dorks.” In other words, hackers feel socially inept (dorks), but use that slur to call others technologically inept (dorks). Every instance of ridicule by this group through the Goolag Scanner falls within the third level of ridicule, claiming the outgroup to be inept and stupid.

Narrative

The Narrative this group decided to use is actually a link to a very important document in hacktivism. The GNU License (2007) reads as follows:

The Free Software Foundation, founded in 1985, is dedicated to promoting computer users’ right to use, study, copy, modify, and redistribute computer programs. The FSF promotes the development and use of free (as in freedom) software—particularly the GNU operating system and its GNU/Linux variants—and free documentation for free software. The FSF also helps to spread awareness of the ethical and political issues of freedom in the use of software.

There are obvious references to the values of all hackers in this short message. First, they refer to the use of the program in any way as a “right.” That is to say something with which humans are born to have. Second, there is an obvious definition of the word “free” directly in the text. This clarification alludes to other so-called “free” software, where the user does not pay for the initial software, but would eventually have to pay for the use, and severely pay for the distribution (since it is illegal to do so). Also, this license may have been chosen for its showcasing of elitism. Linux has always been considered the Operating System for hackers. This license was born under the same umbrella. In fact, the letters “GNU” is a recursive acronym meaning, “GNU’s not Linux.” The general public is not meant to understand, but the license is meant for the general public. Another example of how hacktivism relies on elitists for the masses at the masses’ expense. Because this license is well-known among the hacker community and distributed widely, it should be considered a key narrative of the movement. Both overt and subtle statements to the movement’s values are present, providing function to its users.

Transcendence

Again, this is not an explicitly stated characteristic of this software, but the implications of its use justify the meaning behind the message. The Cult of the Dead Cow warns that they only created the software and do not govern its use. Google has even claimed they would ban IP addresses of those who use the software. It is dangerous, malicious, and potentially harmful to many corporations. Because of those characteristics, the Cult of the Dead Cow is arguably employing the Argument from Quality form of Transcendence. Because the methods to which these actions are taken seem evil, the group must convince its users that corporate America and Google are a greater evil. If you must have a future, in other words, that future better be worth having. The Cult of the Dead Cow sees a future of the hacker destroying corporate take-over and re-implementing self-control through the use of this software. Otherwise, we are doomed, so-to-speak. This could also be the Argument from Value, since the ends do justify the means, no matter what.

Conclusion

The essay by Paul Graham works on several different levels. As a social movement message, it aids in giving an outsider a clear picture as to how individuals within hacktivism communicate and construct messages. Also, knowing the specific language strategies of its leaders aid in understanding the thought processes of its followers. The polarization techniques help to reveal who the hacktivists fight against, and also for what reason. There is no doubt as to how much of this communication can be manipulative, misinformed, and fantasy-based. Even seemingly malicious messages, such as the literature associated with the Goolag Scanner from the Cult of the Dead Cow as merit in the hacktivist movement. However, the effectiveness of this communication rings true with its followers. The evidence of its structure in light of Stewart, Smith, and Denton’s Persuasion and Social Movements (2007) reveals how all social movements share similar strategies, even if the language changes.

Works Cited

Cult of the Dead Cow (2008). Goolag Scanner. Retrieved December 3, 2008, from http://
w3.cultdeadcow.com/cms/.

Free Software Foundation (2007). About the Free Software Foundation. Retrieved December 5, 2008,
from http://www.fsf.org/agplv3-pr.

Google Terms of Service. Google.com. Retrieved December 5, 2008, from http://www.google.com/
accounts/TOS.

Graham, P. (2005). Undergraduation. PaulGraham.com. Retrieved December 3, 2008, from
http://www.paulgraham.com/college.html.

Stewart, C.J., Smith, C.A., & Denton, R.E., Jr. (2007). Persuasion and Social Movements
(5th ed.). Long Grove, Illinois: Waveland Press, Inc.

I think this essay is a great example of how everything leading up to my final semester was a complete blur. I hardly remember writing this. The name of the file I saved this as was “Comm 260 Final”, which means that I had no idea what the class was actually called.

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My Old Self: Religious History

Oct 6, 2010 | No Comments yet

I decided to let nostalgia take the reigns and I dug up some old assignments from college and high school. This turbid look into my old self will hopefully motivate me to continue changing, hopefully for the better.

Class: The Christian Faith, January 15th, 2008
“Religious History” 

My father drives a 2005 GMC Sonoma pick-up truck. The white color, along with the optional Rhino lining and small cab size, nudge toward his idea of what a vehicle is meant to do. He drives that truck for practical reasons, whether he needs 4-Wheel-Drive in the snow, a durable bed to transport steel parts, or towing power to haul any number of things. My mother, on the other hand, sports a 2006 Mustang, which is far from practical, but awfully pretty. The two-door coupe makes it difficult to transport her grandchildren from Lafayette to Bluffton, or even groceries from Scott’s to home. The 210-horsepower V6 hardly ever gets a tug on the reigns. Driving on snow also proves to be a challenge for the frat-boy/middle-age intended vehicle. But my mother falls within a more aesthetic school of thought when it comes to driving. Her first love was a ’65 ‘stang, hard-top, red goddess of the American asphalt. She still has one in storage, only to be driven for recreation in the summer. And some people would have the audacity to criticize my mother for purchasing such an impractical ozone eater; hell, some people would criticize her for buying a Ford. But that’s just it, isn’t it? Having an argument about cars requires both sides to have reference to at least one car. Some people would defend, say, a Cadillac, even if they have only driven Cadillacs all their life. Between my father and my mother, practicality and aesthetics would be argued, yet they would both agree on American manufacturing and, more elementary, the need for a car.

Religion and cars. If the two were synonymous, then I would have no car. I would describe myself as an atheist, although I feel I will need to clarify this more thoroughly later on. For the sake of the metaphor, and even as a true statement, I do own a car. In the United States, it is impossible to travel anywhere without one, unless I mooch or learn how to ride a bike long distances. I could live without a car quite easily in Japan (barely second to America in automobile production), and in fact did do so for a year. It’s this same reasoning that made me believe I needed a (metaphorical) car in order to even survive in America for most of my adolescence.

To understand my personal religious story, you needn’t look further than my driveway. I grew up in a GMC truck and a Dodge Dynasty. My father can best be described as a consistently practical Christian. Much like his truck, he only uses religion when absolutely necessary. I’ve never had a conversation about God or religion with him. He prays before a holiday meal, visits loved ones at funerals, and celebrates weddings. This is the greatest extent I have ever seen him go with religion. Church, prayer, worship, or even conversation involving spirituality does not serve a purpose, let alone get him from point “A” to point “B” efficiently. He has never driven anything other than a reliable, white, GMC Sonoma. Even when he gets a new truck, it’s only different by the year behind the name.

My mother drove a Dodge Dynasty when I was growing up. It was navy blue with vinyl seating. They bought it used, but was still fairly new. Practical for chauffeuring children and not much more, the car simply provided my mother with a sense of luxury to an otherwise boring tool. She could have been described as somewhat religious. She went to church every Sunday with us kids. She is a Methodist, and believes that faith should intertwine with some aspects of life, but not take-over. She prays, talks about God, and worries about her children’s spirituality. Religion is more than just a functioning quark in life for her; she views it as an enjoyable supplement to life.

Fittingly, my first car was the Dynasty after already being passed down through both of my older sisters. The same could be said for my Methodist beginnings. It was never mine, just a good first try at theology. No one expected it to last more than a year. And it didn’t. Chronologically, I can say that I became a “confused Christian” when I became twelve-years-old. A young age, yes, but I was always the inquisitive one. I did not find full-blown atheism until I was fifteen, incidentally old enough to drive. After I broke-down and noticed all of the things that I hated about Christianity, I became incredibly interested in new ideas. I floated around from Satanism, Unitarian Universalist, Taoist, Buddhist, agnostic, pagan, and I think a few others. Not to say I practiced any of them. Instead, I would read about them, ask believers and gain knowledge and interest…then move on. One could say I test-drove them, but never committed to buy. This was within a span of about three years, putting me close to graduating high school.

All through high school, in fact, there was only one car in my life that I cared about, even though I drove a few borrowed from my sisters and other family members. It was a ’74 MGB. My father and I began our project almost immediately after I started high school. We bought three of them from his cousin for a couple hundred dollars. We received them ripped apart, with several of the pieces in coffee cans and other packages. Only one body of the three had sustained the three decades of weather to not have rust damage. It was a project of projects. We worked hard for three years trying to get the damn thing to work. The engine seemed fine, but the electrical system was a horror to say the least. In fact, the British refer to the electrical system of the MGB within the seventies as the “Prince of Darkness” since it almost always failed after a rainstorm, or during seemingly random moments while driving. Senior year was quickly approaching, and by some leap of determination we completed our project. This is the only car I had ever loved, and probably the only one I will ever build from the ground up. She’s a two-seater convertible with a small 4-cylinder and about as raw as a car can get. All steel body, no ABS, no power steering, manual transmission, polluted emission, and a ninja-esque giddy-up that fellow drivers could not challenge. I guess you could say that this was a transitional moment in my life. High school is, after all, a defining period for anyone’s life, including the religious aspects. Like any religion, it should take time, care, love, commitment, knowledge, patience, and a literal mess of other qualities. I feel like most people don’t do this. It can be seen in their driving, too. People will go far beyond the recommended miles for an oil change. My sisters often have smoke barreling out of their car, but will drive it until it will not start again. I’ve seen accidents caused by the dumbest of mistakes. It’s as if most people take advantage of an otherwise awesome tool, but never care to know how it works, or what better way to use it. This is exactly how I feel about religion.

So, after high school I head to college, open-minded about religion, but still a practicing atheist (if that’s the best way to describe it). I say “atheist” in respect to how I describe myself. I do not believe in a higher power, or anything outside of the life I live. I am happy “believing” that I will die and be no more. I am happy “believing” that what I feel as a human being is limited to what I experience, and not considered to be incomplete or even a sin. I came to this conclusion timidly at first, but now I can whole-heartedly accept it as my worldview. So I don’t believe that I simply “don’t own a car”. Instead, I believe that the car I own is mine, and no one else’s. I also know that, no matter how much I care for it or respect it, nothing can stop an asshole too busy talking on his cellphone to flip his expensive SUV over the top of my car and kill everyone on the road.

I hope I offered not only my history within my development of religion, but also some of my religious conclusions. I will not be bold (or stupid) enough to claim I am one-hundred percent right about anything, especially religion. This is a flaw characteristic of most band-wagon atheists. I crave intellectual stimulation, and the best source of this is through the passion of others. One of the most passionate subjects in several peoples’ lives is indeed religion, so I have no other choice but to hold the idea of religion with great respect, curiosity, and challenge. To believe I will forever drive my ’94 Pontiac Bonneville is not only incredibly scary, but almost surely impossible.

Thankfully, the Bonneville is long gone.

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