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What is a Gish Gallop and why should I care?

Let’s open with a scenario.

Have you ever found yourself out in the world, either over a coffee with some acquaintances, at your computer browsing the web, or even tuned into the news, and heard an argument that’s simply left you flabbergasted and reeling for air?

Not only was this argument complete nonsense, but a whole array of nonsense bundled together with often shallow half-truths that was so knee-deep in the bullshit that you felt totally unsure where to even begin when refuting it?

Well my friend, you were probably the victim of a Gish Gallop.

What is a Gish Gallop?

A Gish Gallop is a rhetorical tactic used by bullshitters whereby the speaker unleased a rapid-fire succession of spewed nonsense and non-truth which bears a passing resemblance to fact and seemingly plausible scientific certainly; often the galloper benefits from a commanding nature / appearance of authority when making such claims. (For more information, be sure to check out the rather insightful article found in Rational Wiki about this tactic).

Gish Gallopers (henceforth, just Gallopers) inherit their title from a certain Duane Tolbert Gish, the original Galloper after whom the tactic was named. The recently passed-away Gish was a prominent Young Earth Creationist. As the president of the Institute for Creation Research and the author of numerous books he was a prominent voice in attempting to make creationism a science. That of course should not be confused with Gish having made any prominent scientific claims to his conjectures, just that he attempted to masquerade them as science.

While I could probably unleash a good rant about what science actually means (hint: not the creation of the universe as many people seem to think), I’ll keep those words store for another.

Ultimately, it’s irrelevant whether Gish understood the meaning of the word science or not since he never actually employed the scientific process in a credible manner to get his point across. Instead, he resorted to the rhetorical technique he’s now known for, and galloped his arguments into the public spotlight.

So, why am I even bothering to talk about a rhetorical tactic used by some wily Young Earth Creationist?

Well, recently the Gallop has been brought to international attention and fame thanks not only to prominent Galloper Donald Trump, but also by journalists and academics refuting this tactic. However, the Gallop doesn’t only exist in debates and then to be refuted in news and articles, but has enjoyed widespread usage from a place none other than the internet.

From my own experience, it seems quite clear that the internet is quite literally filled with Gallopers. Their claims come in all shapes and sizes, and pertain to all matters of life (and sometimes death).

Often, Gallops appear in the form of conspiracy theories such as those by New World Order believers and 9/11 Truthers, but also from a variety of religious groups (not-just Christians, here’s looking at you India) and, perhaps most notably, snake oil advertising for “health” products.

Why do bullshitters deploy this tactic?

For starters, it’s easy, almost.

Sometimes, it seems to be a casual defense mechanism that gets deployed when we don’t know what we’re talking about, or don’t have enough time to prepare ourselves.

For instance, have you ever been put on the spot when faced with a tough question and just found yourself spouting whatever half-truths came to mind to make face? I suspect you’ve probably done a little Galloping yourself.

More importantly, it is also a conscious choice to make during a debate. Not only is it an easy tactic to rely on, but it takes far less effort to deploy than more responsible rhetorical strategies.

In fact, Gallopers don’t even really have to prepare anything.

Remembering that nothing the Galloper says is based in actual face, all they have to do is spout whatever random nonsense they can think of on the spot and make it sound factual.

Plus, on the more insidious side of things, the Gallop has proven to be quite effective. Case in point: Trump got elected.

But in all seriousness, let’s not forget that Gallops get shared all the time through social media. (See, for example, some articles about the most shared content on the web, such as these from Buzz Sumo, Kissmetrics, and Wired and you’ll see how the nature of a Gallop is one that easily lends itself to content that is frequently shared.)

Have you ever read a top ten list about something pertaining to your health or some new superfood? There’s a good chance it was just a bunch of Gallop masquerading as fact.

Have you ever been faced with a wall of text rant decrying everything from the liberal media, to Obama, to climate change, all wrapped up in a grand conspiracy? You guess it, a Gallop.

People have a higher tendency to share lists, or what appear to be concise statements of “fact”, than they do articles from scientific journals, or terse, inconclusive and ultimately nuanced discussions. (Don’t believe me? Look at your recent Facebook feed.)

So not only are they easy to digest, but even when chewed over and examined it’s hard to defend against or even refute a Gallop.

Why is it so hard to defeat this tactic?

In a debate, the burden of proof is often unfairly placed on the shoulders of the Galloper’s opponent, and not the Galloper themselves. Meaning, it’s not up to the person making the claim to be responsible for the veracity of such claim, but by the opponent when they oppose the claim.

Essentially, where most reasonable people are careful when making assertions, and often willing to explain why they believe or accept a certain statement, this tactic gives a free hand to whatever crazy thing whichever nutcase Galloper wants to spout because they are exempted from the burden of declaring why they believe such a thing to be true.

The Galloper thus gains the advantage of not-having to carefully prepare their points or even back them up with credible claims. They simply have to spout nonsense; and nonsense which often takes more words to counter than to claim in the first place.

Because of the rapid-fire succession of bullshit, it is typically unreasonable for the opponent to have the time to refute every single point in a logical manner (and even worse, still have time left to make their own point).

Let’s not forget either that the galloper is not basing their statements in fact; rather, their statements have the character of often being “random things” that came to their mind – easily interchangeable with any other similar statement of non-truth. The slippery nature of the Gallop can often make it difficult to tell what exactly one should be refuting.

Making things worse, even if we are able to hold that snake down, most of us aren’t walking around with an arsenal of refutations in our head at all times.

Therefore, when the Galloper makes insane claims, it can be hard to know how to immediately refute them – again, taking more time. The icing on this shit cake is that if the opponent is unable to answer all or even most of the Galloper’s nonsense, the Galloper is often declared the winner due to the other’s inability to refute several points.

For instance, take a look at the names of a few Gish Gallop style articles spotted from around the web (I’ll list their titles, but won’t bother to link them. If you are curious, just Google them):

  • 77 Non-religious Reasons to Support Man/Woman Marriage
  • Scientific Facts in the Bible: 100 Reasons to Believe the Bible is Supernatural in Origin
  • 276 strange coincidences of 9/11
  • 276 strange coincidences to logically reason out?

Yeahhh, maybe next time internet.

Tell me you have the time and the will to go and refute these nonsense articles point-by-point. I certainly don’t.

Should we bother refuting Gallopers?

I recall one session from a few years ago during out PhD methodologies class where a classmate went on a rant about the lack of pragmatism in the department. In essence, he argued that theory is one thing, but practice is another.

In this sense, I agree with him. It’s one thing to be able to spot the Gallop for what it is, but it’s a whole different game to actually do something about it.

And there lies the burden of those of us who respect the scientific process, fact-based arguments and transparency of discourse. How do we fight the forces of nonsense, and should we?

It’s a tough question that I don’t readily have a practical answer for. In a perfect world, I would in fact say, “Yes”, we should combat untruth wherever it tries to assert itself and make the world a safer, more intelligent place.

However, we don’t live in a perfect world where philosopher heroes have all the time in the world to combat the forces of evil speak and gibberish. Most of us have lives that include careers, hobbies and other activities designed to keep us sane.

Does that mean we should never take the time to oppose a Galloper? Not quite.

I’d say the best approach is to pick our fights selectively.

The problem with confronting every Galloper and taking the time to refute their claims is that it suggests that their claim are worthy of the time taken to refute them – which they are not.

Raising pseudo-science to an arena where it can be debated publically alongside real science can lead to people being unable to differentiate truth from fiction.

This is not to say we should let Gallopers have the floor and run all over it, but that fighting every bit of nonsense might have the adverse effect of drawing attention to it – not in the sense of what it is (nonsense) but in what it hopes to achieve (confused and obfuscate).

Perhaps a viable tactic would be to simply refute one or two points, and leave the rest out of the discussion (out of sight and out of mind) and make the argument a micro battle and not an all-out war of attrition.

One could also attempt to place the burden on their shoulders, by simply asking “Sources?” This would cause them to go digging if they have the energy, or end it if they don’t.

Of course, a quick Google search will likely provide them with a source (everything one can imagine lives somewhere on the internet), but you could call attention to the publication itself (“What were the credentials of the peer-reviewers?”, “Was it double-blind or single blind?”, “What institution are they associated with?”) or the argument (“Which piece of empirical evidence do you think best backs up their claims?”, “What part of the article do you think lacks nuance?” or even just “TL;DR Can you spell out their argument and evidence in two sentences?”).

Nevertheless, in spite of all that I just said about selectively choosing our fights, there is one type of Gallop which I feel moderately compelled to argue against whenever I see it: when a Gallop is used to market snake oil.

The dreaded Snake Oil Gallop

Snake Oil Gallopers are probably some of the most vile and casually malicious people I can think of – and I don’t use those words lightly.

I say vile because they are using a weasel-like tactic to promote what is essentially garbage, and malicious because promoting snake oil can actually be very harmful.

Remember: snake oil salesmen are not just greasy scoundrels looking to make a cheap buck at the expense of others; they can also create serious danger and promote serious health hazards.

Being able to convince people to avoid seeking proper medical attention and instead leaving their fate up to whatever oil they wish to peddle on that particular occasion is not just and inept, but arguably evil in the grand scheme of things.

How can I spot a Snake Oil Gallop?

Snake Oil Gallops, like other Gallops, come in all forms. But despite their diversity, they have a few common characteristics that make them easy to spot.

First, they tend to be long and rambling. Rather than carefully choosing their words and exhibiting clear signs of thoughtful copy edit, Gallops tend to skew good grammar in favour of making an assertive point as quickly as possible.

If they don’t follow the wall of text approach, they often seem to rely on bullet points and quick listicle style delivery.

Second, their claims are obviously dubious and not-backed up by any hard facts, just statements masquerading as fact.

Facts have a tendency to be verifiable (it’s what differentiates them from the unsubstantial). Many facts can be (and have been) empirically verified, whether in a lab, out in the world, or using any other scientifically sound mean. Some facts can also o a certain extent be rationally gauged according to their argument and structure. Gallops tend to ignore both of these approaches.

To demonstrate, let’s look at one example I recently came across (it was sent to me over Whatsapp of all places, after it was passed from person to person for quite some time I expect).

In the example below, I’ve abridged some of the bullshit and made it more legible (was originally in very explicit second-language English), but the gist of the Gallop remains the same:

Japanese scientists have recently concluded that drinking 4 cups of warm water a day is 100% guaranteed to:

-Reduce one’s average require sleeping time by one hour

-Cure all of digestive and bowel cancer

-Reverse diabetes

-Prevent common colds and the seasonal flu

-Etc.

On the other hand, drinking cold water:

-Causes people to sleep an average of 2 more hours each night

-Causes intestinal cancer

-Increases one’s chance of getting diabetes by 140%

-Makes one 50% more susceptible to catching the flu and a common cold

-Etc.

We can see how the basic structure of the Gallop plays out. It makes a bullshit statement, and then follows through with a barrage of non-facts (in this case, two statements and two barrages).

What I find interesting about this one, is the use of some added elements designed to further obscure truth and trick the reader:

Statement of “proof”

The gallop begins with a claim to authority and a statement of “proof” which validates all that follows. Of course, these scientists are not mentioned, nor is their study, nor when it was undertaken, nor how it was peer reviewed. We are not even given a single source for this claim, making it as dubious and muddy as everything else that follows.

Given the exclusion of such fact-checking 101 basics, why would people believe this without questioning? My guess is the inclusion of both “Japanese” and “scientist”. We often stereotypically equate “Japanese”, among other Asians, with suprahuman levels of scientific prowess. Adding scientist to their title only makes this gallop sound MORE authentic.

Impossible Guarantees

My favourite part of this gallop was that it had the audacity to declare that all the bullshit was not just guaranteed to make a difference, but “100% guaranteed”. Oh wow! You don’t say? That’s unbelievable!

Actually, it is. I’m not sure how many things in existence are 100% verifiable and guaranteed (even the seasons changing is probably only 99.9% because maybe the universe will explode before spring sets in).

In this case, the Gallop wouldn’t be any more or less factual if you replace “100% guaranteed” with “magically guaranteed”. It seems that the old adage “too good to be true” is probably worth bearing in mind when we see impossible statements like this.

Appealing Claims

We cannot deny that one of the main reasons people believe things like this is that they want to believe it. Even if parts of it cause skepticism or even a small little trace of doubt, the potential benefit of believing it and taking it to heart are simply too good to pass up. Reverses diabetes? Yes, please. Cures cancer? Who doesn’t hope for that?

Adding to this, the negative claims about something other than the miracle snake oil only act to further drive people towards the product being pushed.

Instead of rationally asking how the temperature of the water we drink could possibly make such a ridiculous difference, we’re stuck with thoughts like “Shit, how much cold water do I drink every day? Is that why I feel so sluggish in the mornings?”

Christ, where does this leave us?

It might seem that we’ve worked ourselves into a pickle or that we’re fighting an uphill battle (we are) but don’t let despair get to you.

Galloping would appear to be en vogue at the moment, but nothing lasts forever. That’s not to say we should sit back and let it pass, but even as we might be entering into a new age of untruth we should bear in mind that no age lasts forever.

Still, it never hurts to think pragmatically, so I’ll send us off with four practical points worth considering for us non-Gallopers.

Firstly, and I say this as more as a belief than a fact, but larger societal change begins with oneself. In a sense, one should take the plank out of one’s own eye before taking the speck (or often the plank too, in this case) out of our neighbour’s eye.

As Gallopers often assume the moral high ground, steeling oneself against the claims we level at others is a must.

Second, the willingness to critically examine even our own viewpoints is essential. As educated, rational adults with some basic critical thinking skills at our disposal, we shouldn’t treat our views or knowledge as dogma. Views can change based on facts and new data, as can our knowledge. Therefore, we should be beholden to facts and not the other way around.

It’s perfectly normal for our views to change over the course of our lives. Honestly, who would want to spend the rest of their post-teenage years thinking Punk Rock was the only “good” music out there?

But in all seriousness, as long as our views and opinions are at least partially grounded in fact (and not feeling), we’re in the clear.

Third, to avoid appearing arrogant, we should be willing to apply the same measures for truth in our own believes and acceptances as we do others.

Descartes once remarked something along the lines of “you don’t know something unless you know you know it.” (Okay, just Google it, I’m too lazy to go digging through the books on my shelf.) It’s a bit of a twisty phrase, but one worth bearing in mind. Don’t accept something as known or truthful just because it “feel right”. Go out and learn about it yourself.

Do we accept climate change, but have never read a single published article or investigative piece about it? We probably should. Do we accept the validity of evolution, but never read a text laying out the evidence or even Darwin’s wonderful monograph? Maybe it’s time to get started.

I suppose it’s tied to the first point in that just because something is asserted to be factual or truthful, we should probably take it with at least one grain of salt and until we have reason to assume otherwise.

Fourth, I’m not going to be so bold as to declare “thou shalt not Gallop”, but at the least I can say is try not to Gallop at the dinner table this holiday season. Just have another glass of wine and enjoy the holidays. There’s always time to argue later.

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Movies Opinions

Is HBO’s Westworld about Gnosticism?

Big warning: This article contains SPOILERS! If you aren’t caught up with most of the first four episodes of HBO’s Westworld, you might want to skip this one.

The first episode of HBO’s new sci-fi drama “Westworld” premiered a few weeks back. After my initial viewing (i watched it twice, okay), I walked away with a head full of questions.

It was definitely a more cerebral show than I was expecting and even more so than the original movie which – while, still heavy on all them themes, was much more of a fun “robots go nuts and kill us all” kinda affair.

So amid all this thinking, I had myself a little “braingasm” and I started wondering if it would be a fun exercise to see if I could read the show allegorically using Gnostic mythology.

There were definitely hints of this in the first episode (notably, in its prominent themes of ignorance, life and death, creation and destruction, etc.) but it wasn’t until I saw more of this world that I began to wonder if this wasn’t perhaps entirely intentional on the part of the writers. Jonathan Nolan who seems like a pretty well-read kind of guy and he’s played with similar themes in past works (like in Memento).

So is Gnosticism or a Gnostic cosmos the framing device for Westworld both as a world and as a narrative? Well, I don’t have any hard and fast answers for that one, but I think there’s a pretty strong argument in its favour.

What is Gnosticism?

Gnosticism (from the Greek root word for “knowledge”) is a religious and philosophical framework which was used by numerous ancient civilizations to understand their universe and the religious worlds they inhabited.

In essence, it privileged “knowledge” and the need for one to “know the truth” about their reality above all else. Something along the lines of “the Truth will set you free.”

It’s important to bear in mind that “Gnosticism” (if there even was such an -ism) was not a religion, nor a series of religious traditions as some Wikipedia articles would have it (and even though we have the tendency to call some religious “Gnostic Religions”).

Instead, we should look at Gnosticism as an element of a tradition, or an approach to a tradition, that isn’t necessarily all encompassing.

What do I mean by that? Well, a single religious tradition can have both Gnostic and non-Gnostic practitioners and adherents. The difference is in their emphasis. Gnostics emphasize knowledge and “knowing God” while others tend to focus on devotion and rituals.

One disclaimer on all this: unlike tons of earlier scholarship, it’s now a given that Gnosticism as a term is a bit of a misnomer and has the tendency to inaccurately congeal a wide variety of religious and philosophical experiences together when they should be separate.

I’m quite aware of this, but for the sake of convenience, I’ll stick with “Gnosticism” knowing its flaws.

Plus it means I won’t have to dish out a crash course in a dozen schools of thought (everything from Middle to Neo-Platonism, to Manichaeism, to Valentianism, etc.).

So with that in mind, let’s see where this reading can take us!

A World of Ignorance

The show opens with the lines “have you ever questioned the nature of your reality?”

It’s posed as both a question and a challenge to Dolores, the host in Westworld who slowly becomes more aware of the park’s true nature.

We see over the course of the first episode how every host who wanders through Westworld is ignorant of their true reality. To them, it’s a small patch of land in the Old American West, but to the viewer and the employees up in the control centre, we know it’s actually a simulation.

The opening question is also given to us, the audience, as a framing device, as a way of hinting at what the show is really about underneath all the blood, sex and violence. Perhaps we the viewers should also look deeper and question the nature of the show itself.

The Search for Knowledge

Ignorance is stated as the challenge, as the problem, that the protagonists need to overcome. The solution: knowledge.

Salvation in these sorts of religious systems isn’t posited as believing in one God or another, but in realization the truth to the nature of our realities. In this sense, this is the same quest for salvation that is placed on the hosts in the park – as well as many of the other human characters and guests.

After all, where would a good Gnostic story be without a quest for knowledge?

Let’s look at a few characters where we see this sort of Gnostic quest taking shape in at least the past few episodes:

1) William, one of the human guests, is told by his “friend” Logan that he brought him to this place to help him discover who he really is.

2) Dolores, our central host, has a larger story arc where she appears to be experiencing a slow awakening – an enlightenment, perhaps – as she remembers more of the past and knows more about what kind of place Westworld is beneath all the veneer.

Dolores hasn’t hit the nail of the head just yet, but she has begun to question her reality and her place in it (she tells her lover Teddy that she feels called for something greater, and possibly further away).

If the narrative goes according to the way I see it, one can assume that knowledge (once she acquires more of it) will completely change her worldview and in essence “wake her up” from this nightmare.

Plus let’s not forget that shots of her opening her eyes are a recurring visual motif in the series – which mirrors the common Gnostic trope of awakening to the “truth”.

3) Maeve (the head mistress at the bar) also appears to be going on a similar journey to that of Dolores. With each passing episode, she seems to have more and more flashbacks. By the end of episode four, she discovers a truth that lets her know none of her world is as real as she thought it was.

Perhaps even more interesting about her story and her quest is the story she frequently tells guests when they first arrive in her saloon.

According to her, she came from “the old world”, took a ship and arrived in this “new world”.

On the surface, it seems to suggest Europe and the Americas (though those words were never even uttered so far.. is this even Earth?), but going deeper into our mythology it sounds like a reference to a “descent.”

The descent is a common theme in Gnostic creation myths, how in the distant past humans or living beings fell from their higher state and became trapped into a lower, material one filled with ignorance.

Did Maeve leave the higher world, the more perfect one, and is now somewhat aware that she arrived in this lesser one of ignorance?

I’m not entirely sure how to interpret that one, but one other possibility is that she is referencing her own creation – from the perfect, formless matter all the hosts came from, down to her present, flawed and material form.

4) Even the Man in Black, while an antagonist in the larger story, is also on a quest for knowledge. Though his motivations are shady, we know he believes there is something more to the park – “another level” – and he’s trying to piece things together to find it.

There are clues that this is also a Gnostic quest: the discovery of the map underneath the hosts’ scalp; the slow unravelling of information from the hosts (notably, from Lawrence’s daughter) that lead him deeper down the rabbit’s hole; the need to discover “the serpent” (itself, in Gnostic mythology, as a keeper and provider of knowledge); etc.

Bernard as Sophia or Messenger

Sophia – the personification of wisdom in the form of a divine being – is often charged with delivery knowledge to the world of creation down below.

In this case, a possible character parallel would be Bernard, the programmer, who has what appear to be secret talks with Dolores. In these scenes he seems to be pushing her towards her upcoming revelation about the truth of her world.

If Bernard does not stand in for Sophia, it is also possible that he is intended to serve as the often used “divine messenger” figure in Gnostic parables (notably, the Manichaean creation myth).

While not the embodiment of wisdom, the messenger still travels from the world above to the world below to deliver or demonstrate a powerful truth to its inhabitants. Again, this can be reflected in his talks with Dolores.

Ford as the Demiurge

In Gnostic cosmology, there is a true God and a lesser one known as the demiurge who (in their arrogance and ignorance) created the physical world. However, this world is far from perfect. It’s filled with mistakes and errors – ones that make it possible and perhaps more convincing – but flawed nonetheless.

In our series, Ford frequently talks about “mistakes” or how the world began with a “mistake.” As the architect or founder of Westworld, he is also the creator figure. He even refers to himself as such in episode one during his talk with Dolores’ father.

Though the existence of a demiurge also signals the need for there to be a higher “true” God in the cosmology. Now, I wonder who could that possibly be?

Arnold as the Higher God?

Arnold is a mysterious character who we haven’t yet met and the information we have at this point is pretty elusive.

We’re told by Ford that Arnold is dead, yet given no evidence to back up this claim. It seems quite likely that this is an error or a purposeful misdirection from the part of Ford.

Indeed, in our mythology the demiurge is usually not made aware that there is any God other than himself. Ignorance, after all, goes hand in hand with the demiurge.

But what evidence do we have that Arnold representative of some higher God? One hint comes from Ford who tells us that in the beginning, Arnold created a perfect world (which mirrors a commonly seen trope in Gnostic storytelling that there was a perfect world before this broken one).

Everything was perfect in this world except – as Ford puts it – no one could die.

Now, eternal life doesn’t sound like much of a flaw to my ears, but it could be a hint as to what was going on with Arnold.

If Arnold created an original park where no one could die, it sounds quite a bit like the original plan the “true” Gods in Gnostic mythology have for living beings – a world of perfection, where there is no death.

This idea is even represented in the Hebrew Bible book of Genesis (which came to be no small source of later inspiration for our Gnostic traditions).

God created the perfect Garden of Eden, where there was no death, and everything seemed perfect. However, eating from the tree of knowledge upset the whole plan and people had to deal with the consequences.

Light and Dark Dualism

In some Gnostic cosmology (*cough* Manichaeism), the universe is divided between absolute light and absolute dark.

Light – standing in for all that is good and true – is at an eternal standstill with dark – standing in for all that is evil and ignorant.

People, by their existence the product of a flawed demiurge and perfect higher God, have access to both of these natures. One can choose light or dark, as reflected by their actions.

The nature duality is made fairly evident in the scene where Logan has to choose his hat, and he’s given the choice of light or dark. He chooses light, while his “friend” Logan appears later wearing black.

As the story progresses, both of their choices reflect the colours of their choosing – Will as the “good guy” who restrains from violence and boldly desires, Logan as the increasingly chaotic and violent “bad guy” who succumbs to every desire.

Heck, if I’m not mistaken, Logan even uses hat colours as a metaphor for classifying good and bad actions in Westworld.

Life emerges from the Pleroma

And lastly, those big white vats.

In Gnostic creation myths, all living beings are originally, and truly, a soul or a spirit that emerged from a larger collective of like substances. However, as part of the creation story, these souls get encased in matter and become flawed (thanks, demiurge).

From the opening credits to the frequent scenes in the creepy room with the vats, we’re shown that the hosts are created from the same fibres from the same machines.

They also literally emerge from big white vats and then get encased with their external features. It’s not a huge leap to read this as souls being taken from the collective and then trapped in matter.

Conclusions

It’s not a perfect theory (in fact, it’s pretty messy in some parts, and I had to reach sparingly from a whole pool of different Gnostic traditions to fill in just these blanks) but is it a plausible theory?

I’m quite aware that we as an audience now a tendency to over-read shows and narratives, and our interpretation greatly depends on our own backgrounds, but I’m definitely standing in the “Yes” camp.

It’s possible that this has been an active, guiding idea on the part of the writers since square one. Even if it’s not, I think there is too much thematic similarity for them to have not at least been influence by these ideas, or borrowed a few for storytelling purposes.

But then again, who knows? We’re only four episodes in. A lot can happen over the course of the rest of the season. Maybe the whole thing will degenerate into a generic human vs host war (but here’s hoping for otherwise)!

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Opinions

I wish I could love Stranger Things, but I don’t

I really wish I could love Netflix’s Stranger Things more than I do. But the show makes it so difficult.

Despite a strong, promising start filled with plenty of atmosphere, creepiness and mystery, along with excellent scoring and cinematography, Stranger Things lost my adoration. It happened much more quickly than I was expecting – especially considering how the first two hours utterly captivated me (I even wondered, briefly, how it could have less than 100% on Rotten Tomatoes) – but it happened.

I’m not sure when the moment struck me, but by the beginning of the fourth episode (right around the discovery of “the body”), I was already feeling that the show not only ran out of steam but revealed the shallowness of its central concept, and storytelling.

Where to begin? I’m pretty sure I could rant all day, but here’s taste of four of the main culprits: 1) Macguffins galore, 2) no consequences, 3) artificial tension, and 4) stereotypes, stereotypes, stereotypes.

Macguffins Galore
The big disappointed hit me when I realized that show seems unable to propel its story forward without the use of plot devices.

The very first scene of the series features four characters playing a game similar to Dungeons & Dragons and the actions they take in the game are immediately played out in real life (a character does something reckless, is taken by the monster).

Okay, cool.

While it was an intriguing opening premise – fantasy mirrors reality – the show soon over-relies on object clues like this. Perhaps they are meant as foreshadowing, or to be more subtle than they come across, but realistically a viewer shouldn’t be able to guess most events before it happens.

To illustrate, two prominent examples happen in the first four episodes, both involving actual devices.

The first, is the camera which Jonathan constantly carries with him. Instantly, he is presented as a reclusive photographer, and the mere presence of the camera causes us to suspect that it will inevitably capture a grainy shot of the monster, which will be discovered later and used to validate the protagonists conviction. It then does exactly that, with the added bous that after it served its plot purpose, the camera is destroyed. Any mention of photography, or artistic introspection vanishes.

In another scene we are introduced to a high powered radio transmitter. It initially seems like it is used to establish the nerdiness of the central characters but, like everything else in the show, it’s also simply a plot device. The characters ask themselves where they can find a more powerful radio at one point and – ding – the device we saw earlier. The device then serves its purpose, and is also destroyed.

It makes a brief appearance later when an agent on the side of the bag guys stumbles upon it dressed as a repair man. Perhaps it was to show the forces of evil closing in on the heroes, but since they find other ways of tracking down our protagonists, it ultimately serves the same purpose as it was never mentioned again.
Either way, in both cases, we have objects that literally become plot devices, and are then removed from the plot after their purpose has been served, with virtually no meaningful consequence or reference to either afterwards.

The greatest culprit of the Macguffin problem, however, is the character Eleven. She’s a telepathic, telekinetic, grab bag of undefined psychic powers. Whatever power any given scene calls for in order to move that scene forward, she has it. Need to move a van out of the way? Done. Need to open a door? Door. Need to change a compass’s direction? Done. Block a manager with a shopping cart? And done.

Lack of real consequences
This is a show about an evil monster than inhabits another realm of reality. The premise is scary as hell, since we have no idea what sort of rules it follows and the show slowly teases its abilities to us. It attacks from the shadows, striking without warning; it lurks in a particular patch of woods, and everyone who ventures near there has disappeared. It would seem then that the more we learn about the monster, the stakes seem to be getting raised.

Okay, great. We as the viewers know what the consequences should be for approaching that area, and the monster.

But then, it abandons all those stakes for rather arbitrary reasons.
For instance, Nancy – a main character – walks in the woods where we know it lurks. She catches a glimpse of the monster, there’s tension as it crawls by the camera and then – it doesn’t attack.

Why?

Even after it was established earlier as attacking on sight, we get nada – just a cheap jump scare. Later, she returns to those woods, with a reckless plan to fight it. Okay, great – now her courage will bite her in the ass. It even seems that way as she gets trapped in its lair at the end of one episode – with the final shot suggesting her way back is blocked.

Yet, by five minutes into the following episode, she escapes through the route that she entered – the same route that was apparently trapping her there. Even once she’s free, there’s no chase, no monster hounding her out. Just safety.

In another instance, another character acts with vigilante recklessness and gets a bit too close to knowing the truth. He breaks into a lab, is captured at gun point and sedated – only to be released moments later by the same agency, mind you, that killed another character earlier in the show for getting too close to the truth.

Essentially, instead of following through on the consequences which the show already establishes, it decides to eschew them in favour of artificial tension.

Artificial Tension
And the tension – or lack thereof.

If the consequences for the main character’s actions do not follow the consequences for the lesser – expendable – character’s actions, this leads to a lack of tension. If main characters have the equivalent of “plot armor” – invulnerability for the sake of progressing the story – we don’t worry about them, leading to the needing other ways to generate conflict. And it does so by having characters constantly clash with one another, but these clashes are in themselves often artificial and without many stakes either.

As the show makes abundantly clear, there are no grey areas in terms of morality, tension or character action. There are good guys and bad guys.

Every disagreement and conflict in the series boils down to one of 2 possibilities: 1) It’s between the good guys (the characters we are rooting for) or the bad guys (the characters who have already been established as terrible); and 2), it’s between the good guys but for reasons that are largely arbitrary (to slow down the plot and pacing, more than a clash of values and ideals).

An example of the former would be when Jonathan gets into a fight with Steve – Nancy’s jockish ex-boyfriend. He’s already been established as a bad guy asshol, so it boils down to a protagonist and antagonist fighting. As they clash, we know neither will walk away having gained or learned anything new, since it’s just one side versus the other.

Perhaps more sheepishly is how this fight in itself becomes another plot device. A mere minute after they fight, the cops arrive, arrest the protagonist, and A) pause the already established plan Jonathan and Nancy had to fight the monster and B) send him to the police station so that two disparate groups of protagonists can encounter one another. The bad guy ran off, and the good guys meet up.

An example of the latter would be when the gang fights among themselves about how they should – for lack of a better way to explain it – advance the plot. They attempt to use some compasses to find the evil lair (again, more literal plot devices) but are foiled when the realize they were simply walking in circles. Different protagonists raise different issues in the moment, and clash over the right course of action and whose to blame. Things escalate, and they split. Yet, we know their fight won’t matter because no real stakes were raised (other than voices) during their fight and we suspect that within an episode they will make up (they do).

The conflicts in this show, then, feels like it’s simply stalling for time, in order to pad out eight episodes of the first season. It’s unfortunately cheap storytelling.

Stereotypes!
I get that it is supposed to be a throwback to the 80s, along with the character dynamics, but that doesn’t mean we need to relive all the clichés of the period – particularly gender roles.

The main female characters – Winona Ryder’s Joyce, in particular – are presented as irrational, emotional types. While we can feel empathy for her lost son, the show aligns her emotional response with the protective aspect of motherhood, as she feels certain her son isn’t dead and she has to rescue him. Ultimately, her feelings are correct, but it’s made for glaring by the fact that male characters can reach the same conclusion without requiring the use of their emotions.

In essence, in contrast to the female characters (excepting one assassin type), the men are cold and emotionless. Finn and Nancy’s father seems unable to understand his emotionally tense family over dinner. Matthew Modine’s evil scientist is a slate as blank as the colour of his hair. Lonnie, the apparently reckless egomaniacal ex-husband of Joyce, appears as someone always half awake / half asleep, even when fighting with his ex-wife.

Perhaps a small exception are the young men, who haven’t yet learned to reign in their emotions, and David Habour’s Jim Hopper has one emotion – righteous anger – which in itself is a masculine trait (aggression).

Jim also happens to be a walking stereotype in a different way. While his introductory scene was remarkably well done and shot, it still ended up providing us with yet another alcoholic, depressed, divorced, reckless and hypermasculine cop character. In the end, we are given yet another male protagonist who acts both within and above the law when it suits his storyline.

Curiously, Eleven – the telepathic young girl – is different than the other women characters, in that she is the most “masculine” of all the women on the show. Eleven shows little emotional comprehension and acts of her own agency and fighting against the opposing characters using the power of her mind (not emotions). However, to balance this, she is an androgynous character – neutered by her buzzcut. It would seem that a character cannot be both female and in control, without some signifying marker of her femaleness (her hair) removed (and note that characters even wonder if she is in fact a boy at various times, because of her lack of hair).

In general, one could say that all the men (even the younger ones) are essentially brutish, violent characters who solve problems by hitting or smashing things, or raising their voices without emotional connection to the events surrounding them; while the women, are misunderstood, emotional mothers who need to nurture but are constantly being prevented from doing (two mothers with missing or kidnapped children, one with a teenage daughter who refuses to bond with her).

Disclaimer: I’m currently only 7 episodes into the 8 total. So while that might seem a little early to bite the bullet on ranting about this one, I’ll definitely revisit if the conclusion shocks or changes my opinion.