Talking to the telly

Does anybody else out there talk to the telly while watching it?

Some examples:

Scully and Mulder are investigating a seemingly empty stronghold of the Secret US Government Conspiracy. They go through a door into a dark building, but leave it open behind them – as much as to say to the murderous paramilitaries that the government employs to protect these places – ‘We’re in here!’

So naturally I say ‘Close the door behind you Scully, or the goons with submachine guns will get you!

And sure enough, in rush the gun-laden goons, shooting everywhere. But miraculously, again, they don’t manage to hit our two heros, who escape – again – but without any evidence of the murderous conspiracy – again.

Doctor Who is walking through a storeroom of mannequins and stops to examine something. Obviously, one of the mannequins is going to come to life and attack him, but he doesn’t think of that, so engrossed is he in what he is examining. So, as a mannequin comes to life and starts to sneak up on the Doctor, I helpfully call out:

Look behind you!

Which he does, not soon enough to avoid being grabbed, but soon enough to wriggle out of the predator’s grasp and run away.


I can think of plenty of other examples, but not closing doors behind you and not putting your back to the wall when you’re in a dangerous place are the two ones that incite me the most.

Then there’s the one where key characters in a show, that are supposed to engage the watcher’s sympathies, make a trademark practice of buying coffee in single-use, non-recyclable cups, walk along with them chatting to each other but not drinking, and then throw the apparently full cup in a bin. Yes it might be worse if they threw it on the ground, but not by much! So I expostulate:

Buy a Keep-cup* Lorelei, ya environmental vandal!

*Reusable coffee cup. Probably TM like hoovers and biros and band-aids and xeroxes.

And the one where somebody says something that they don’t realise is upsetting for another person. Like when person A says to person B, who had believed an as-yet unacknowledged romantic bond was beginning to develop between them, ‘I never thought I could have a best mate that was a girl’.

So I helpfully inform him ‘She doesn’t want to be that sort of a mate, you blind poltroon!

Do you do that too? Perhaps only when there is nobody else around? Or do you do it regardless? Or are you one of those people that bottles up their fears, irritations and sympathies vis à vis the characters and keeps them inside?

I like talking to TV characters. It makes me feel like I have a relationship with them. A self-help guru might say I should concentrate on relationships with real people, but I think you can do both. And I don’t know any real people that are time lords or government conspiracy uncoverers. Sadly, I do know plenty of people that waste our resources and exacerbate the landfill problem by drinking coffee in non-reusable cups, but they seem immune to my hints that there is a better solution.

I have quite enjoyed watching telly recently. Perhaps it’s because the future of the world looks so black with the continuing rise of neo-fascism and the determination of governments of large, wealthy, ex-British colonies to do as little as possible to address the climate crisis (New Zealand being an honourable exception). There’s reading of course, but in my continuing attempts to get better at foreign languages, most of that is not in English, so it’s hard work. Which makes it so relaxing to just plonk on the couch for a while after work, in front of a silly, simple, comedy or drama that asks nothing of me but my attention (But NOT a reality TV show! My loathing of them is a whole ‘nother subject entirely!).

In days of yore, telly was seen by some as a brain-sapping, eye-damaging scourge. “it’ll give you square eyes!” was what my parents warned. Fortunately, I didn’t watch a great deal of telly when young, so my eyes are still approximately oval-shaped. My opthalmologist, with her specialised equipment, was able to advise me that there is a small amount of right-angling at the edges of two of my eyes, but it’s less than the average for people born in the TV era, so nothing to be concerned about.

These days it’s the internet, especially social media, that parents are worried about their children spending too much time on. Television is seen as relatively benign. Perhaps because it’s now old enough to be trusted. Or perhaps because watching telly, unlike staring at a computer screen, can be a social activity. Like in the old days of Victorian and Elizabethan theatre, we can hiss at the baddies and cheer (or warn) the goodies, lament the misfortunes, discuss what the real explanation of the mystery may be, or what the protagonist should have done when confronted with that Terrible Dilemma.

With the internet, everybody in a room can be sitting staring at their own little screen. They might as well be a million miles from the people around them. But with telly, the people in the room are watching it together, no matter how bad it is.

Is that a good thing?

Andrew Kirk

Bondi Junction, October 2019



Against baiting muslims

Recently I have come across numerous instances of muslim-baiting. I use that term to describe the practice where somebody that hates Islam talks or writes publicly about obnoxious passages of Muslim scripture – in the Quran or the Hadiths – and imply that Muslims must either agree with them, in which case they are horrible extremists, or reject them, in which case they are ‘not proper Muslims’.

Aggressive anti-muslim advocates like Andrew Bolt and Pauline Hanson sometimes focus on passages in the Quran or the Hadiths that advocate beliefs or describe actions that are considered abhorrent in modern, liberal Western society – things such as demonising gay people, advocating the slaughter of infidels, endorsing wife-beating, and Muhammed allegedly marrying a six-year old girl.

The anti-muslims seek to confront moderate muslims with this and force them to choose between their religion and their acceptance in society. The argument goes that, if the person endorses those passages of scripture they are a menace to society, but if they do not then they are not a proper muslim, and are being dishonest.

I will come shortly to why that tactic is unfair and dishonest. But first let’s look at what it could possibly be aiming to achieve. Presumably, since the provocateur abhors Islam, they do not want to force the person to move towards the radical extreme of Islam. The only plausible aim I can see in the tactic is the hope that the muslim will suddenly realise what a terrible religion Islam is, reject it on the spot and become adopt a secular or Christian worldview.

How many people do you know that have done that?

I know none, and have not heard of any either. In my experience, human nature is such that, if somebody aggressively attacks something that is a key part of your world, be it your religion, your family, your political persuasion or your football club, you will dig your heels in, forget any doubts you may have had about the thing being attacked, and associate even more strongly with it.

If that observation is accurate, then these attacks, by people claiming to be champions of Western or Judeo-Christian Values (both of which I consider to be misnomers, but that’s a different essay), will just entrench the importance of Islam to immigrant populations. Not only that, but by deriding moderate versions of Islam as cognitively dissonant at best and dishonest at worst – ‘not true Islam’ – they put pressure on moderate muslims to become extremists.

In other words, the results of such mean and ham-fisted efforts by the ‘defenders of Western values’ are the exact opposite of what they would say they are aiming for. Dumb tactics indeed! Tactics that would be cheered on enthusiastically by the fundamentalists of Daesh and Al Qaeda, as they drive moderate peace-loving muslims towards the clutching arms of the terrorists.

Now let’s turn to the fairness of such attacks. Are they consistent with how we treat other belief systems? Do we, in particular, aggressively demand that moderate Christians publicly state whether they endorse the Bible’s advocacy of stoning adulterers (Leviticus 20:10) and disobedient children (Deuteronomy 21:18-21) and executing gay men (Leviticus 20:13)? Or, if we want to be charitable enough to accept the common view that the Old Testament no longer applies, having been superseded by the New, do we ask them whether they support Paul’s invocation ‘slaves, obey your masters’ (Colossians 3:22) and ‘wives, submit to your husbands’ (Ephesians 5:22), and rejoice in the statements attributed to Jesus: ‘I came not to bring peace, but a sword’ (Matthew 10:34) and ‘If anyone comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters – yes, even their own life – such a person cannot be my disciple’ (Luke 14:26) and ‘Whoever has will be given more, and they will have an abundance. Whoever does not have, even what they have will be taken from them’ (the “moral” of the repulsive Parable of the Talents in Matthew 25:14-30).

Turning from Christianity generally, to its largest denomination – Roman Catholicism – are RCs asked to choose between agreeing with the church’s campaign against condom use in countries afflicted with AIDS epidemics on the one hand, and complete abandonment of their religion on the other?

The answer, of course, is No. Neither Roman Catholics nor Christians are treated as dangerous subversives in Western cultures. Sure, there are a few over-excited atheist demagogues that might wish they were, but even when their criticisms are perfectly good ones – such as that it is child abuse to teach children they will burn forever in hell if they don’t believe in Jesus – the people making the criticisms are regarded as extremists, rather than those they are criticising.

I know plenty of progressive Christians – you know, the ones that believe the central message of their religion is to love one another, and that anything in the bible or their church’s teaching that can’t be interpreted to be consistent with that should be ignored. They are generally good people. On average they seem to be no worse than those that don’t subscribe to a belief system with dodgy bits in its older scriptures. As long as they don’t claim that the Bible was dictated by God word-for-word to its writers, and transcribed and translated without error, there is no inherent contradiction in that stance. Their religious belief does not entail a need to live in perpetual cognitive dissonance.

It is good that most non-Christians in Western society display this tolerance towards moderate Christians. It is odd and unfortunate then, that the same tolerance is less often extended to moderate muslims. Forcing people whose religion is a crucial part of their life to choose between becoming a violent extremist and abandoning their faith is bad tactics, uncharitable and just stupid, whether the religion is Christianity, Islam or something else. Perhaps if there were a religion whose central tenet was seriously harmful, such an approach might make sense. We might for instance class Nazism in the Third Reich as a state religion, in which the central tenet is the sacredness of the German fatherland and people, whose triumph over all the inferior races must be secured. In such a case it would be reasonable to try by all reasonable means to persuade people to abandon it. But religions like that are very rare. So rare, in fact, that I had to break my own rule of never using Nazis as an example, because in this case it was the only example I could think of (Sorry, Mr Godwin).

The reason I am writing this is that I have recently seen criticism from ‘the right’ of what it alleges to be double standards on ‘the left’ in defending Muslims on the one hand while criticising Christians on the other. They say the left is hypocritical for criticising hard-line Christians that attempt to impose their views about issues like abortion, same sex marriage and assisted dying on society, while sticking up for immigrants that belong to a religion that the critics say has even harder-line views on those issues.

That criticism is based on a mistake, which is understandable, but which would not be made if the critics would only apply the good old Principle of Charity to their opponents’ arguments – ie to consider the range of possible interpretations of the arguments and choosing the most sensible one, rather than the one that is silliest and easiest to knock down (a straw man).

Certainly I criticise hard-line Christians that try to impose their views on society, for doing that. But I do not argue they should be forced into silence, sent back to where they came from (originally Europe, in most cases), or treated as second-class citizens, denied the right to build places of worship. And I don’t criticise moderate Christians at all for their religion. Yet these same critics want to exclude Muslims from our country and control those that are here, without stopping to ask what their beliefs are or to see whether they keep those beliefs to themselves or impose them on wider society. All that I and others ask for is that Muslims be given the same courtesy that Christians are given – of being judged by what they do and say as an individual, rather than simply by their membership of a group out of which a tiny minority has behaved in a nasty manner.

Andrew Kirk

Bondi Junction, July 2019

Dogma, in religions and other places

Most people are familiar with the dogmas promoted by powerful religious institutions such as the Roman Catholic church, evangelical protestant churches and some branches of Islam. The institutions claim they have sole possession of the truth, direct from God, and that anybody that does not agree is a heretic, someone to be avoided, and who may be punished.

Dogmatism is annoying, anti-social and causes a great deal of misery, both for people growing up under the power of the institution proclaiming the dogma and for some of those that interact with them.

It’s also pretty well recognised. One need only mention religious dogma and heads start to nod. People know what you’re talking about.

Despite the negative connotations the word has for most people, the leadership of the RC church does not object to the term and still uses it as a core part of its teachings. They invented the term, and use it without shame to describe propositions that the church says RCs are obliged to believe. When I was an RC I never thought to ask what happens if one does not believe a dogma. It seemed too impertinent. But now when I research it, the answer that appears fairly consistently across different RC sources is that it is not a sin to disbelieve the dogma, as long as you don’t say so aloud, because that might encourage somebody else to disbelieve it. That would be heresy, which is a grave sin, punishable by an eternity in hellfire. A few centuries ago, the punishment was lighter – a mere burning at the stake.

Although the RC church invented the word ‘dogma’, it is not the only institution to proclaim dogmas. There are plenty of dogmas in evangelical protestantism, and some variants of Islam are heavily dogmatic. Perhaps non-RCs would reject the application of the word ‘dogma’ to their essential beliefs, given the pejorative sense in which the word is mostly used these days. But it would be hard to argue that concepts such as ‘biblical inerrancy’ or ‘justification by faith alone’ are not dogmas for some protestant sects.
It would be a mistake to equate dogma with religion, because most religions are not dogmatic. It is just our misfortune that the three most dominant religions of our world: Roman Catholicism, Evangelical Protestantism and Islam have many adherents that assert an obligation to believe the relevant dogmas.

I am not aware of any pre-Christian religion that had obligatory beliefs. Judaism had many rules, but they were about practices, not beliefs. Even for worship, the injunction was to not worship other gods, or idols in particular. As long as you didn’t bow down or offer sacrifices to golden calves or statues of Ba’al, it didn’t matter whether, in the privacy of your own thoughts, you really believed Yahweh was the greatest god. In fact the Torah says nothing at all about obligatory beliefs, so far as I recall. Other pre-Christian religions, like Buddhism, the many variants of Hinduism, Mithraism, Zoroastrianism and the ancient Greek, Roman and Egyptian religions also appear to set no expectations about their members’ beliefs.

Dogmas appear in places other than religions. Just as some protestants, while abjuring RC dogmas like the Immaculate Conception or Trans-substantiation, insist on their own dogmas, people who are opposed to all religions – the so-called New Atheists – can be as dogmatic as those they criticise. Classic New Atheist dogmas are things like ‘it is wrong to believe anything that cannot be proven to be true’, or ‘for all questions and human challenges, science is the best means to an answer’. For some militant atheists it even seems to be an item of faith that adherence to any religious belief at all must be a sign of stupidity. I know these dogmas because for a while I was a born-again atheist and subscribed to them. I used to listen to podcasts of debates between Christians and atheists about whether God exists, cheering on my side and hoping for the unconditional surrender of the other. Looking back, it seems such an odd thing to do. Neither the debaters nor their supporters in the audience ever changed their views one iota. Each side had their dogmas and stuck steadfastly to them. They may as well have both been shouting into the wind. But really I suppose they were just playing to their supporters. I believe such debates can never get anywhere because it is impossible to prove or disprove the existence of a god, and any attempt to do either relies on presuppositions – usually unstated –  that one side will accept and the other will not.

I have not completely forsaken atheism. I am still atheist on Mondays and alternate Wednesdays. But I have forsaken the dogmatism that accompanies the more aggressive variants of atheism.

Dogmas manifest in wider circles than the theological and anti-theological. Other areas where they crop up are philosophy, politics, economics, psychology and sociology. People debate whether there is such a thing as objective morality, whether equality is more important than liberty, whether wealth really does ‘trickle down’ in a capitalist society, and whether most psychological disorders can be traced back to early childhood experience. Debates between evangelical christians and militant atheists seem mild and friendly compared to the vicious passions unleashed in a debate between a Berkeleyan Idealist and a Materialist acolyte of GE Moore about whether a tree that falls in a forest makes a noise if there is nobody there to hear it.

I’m not suggesting that none of those things matter. It matters very much what political and economic theories are adopted by governments. They affect many people’s lives. Even some sorts of philosophy have huge effects. One can trace the roots of many important social movements to the ideas raised by philosophers, such as the influence of Enlightenment philosophers on the American and French revolutions. It’s hard to see how the ‘actual existence’ or otherwise of impossibly distant galaxies could affect our lives, but other similarly meaningless topics, such as whether the Holy Ghost proceeds from the Father and the Son, or just from the Father, have led to wars, the rise and fall of empires and many burnings of people that had the misfortune of siding with the wrong opinion.

The common element of dogmatic claims is not their capacity or otherwise to affect our lives, it is their total immunity to proof, disproof, or experimental testing of any kind.

There is no dogma about the law of gravity, no dogma of quantum mechanics or a doctrine of the periodic table. A good biology teacher will not demand that her class believe that cells of mammals have a nucleus containing bundles of DNA and little packets of RNA. A good mathematics teacher will not demand that the class believe that the method being taught for long division works. The teacher is saying: “Here is a method, or an approach to understanding something. Most people find it useful in getting important things done“. The teacher could add – but generally doesn’t bother – “If you don’t like what I’m teaching and want to go and invent your own method of long division (or theory of the elements), be my guest! I’ll still be here to help you learn this method if you change your mind.

It is both ironic and predictable that the claims about which we humans get most dogmatic are those about which it is least possible to be certain. When there is a high level of certainty – as with Newton’s Laws of Motion – there is no need for dogmatism. You can take it or leave it. More fool you if you leave it. But when there is little to no certainty available, as with doctrines of neo-liberal economics (or, to be fair, Marxist economics), doctrines of the nature of the Holy Ghost, or proofs and disproofs of the existence of god(s), people generally ramp up the dogmatism and turn the volume to eleven. They use dogma and noise to make up for their lack of confidence and inability to provide any concrete evidence for the proposition.

This has led to my strongest philosophical position being anti-dogmatism. No matter what proposition somebody makes, be it about religion, ontology, economics or politics, and regardless of whether I sympathise with the belief being promoted or not, I now instinctively react against it and look to debunk it, if it is made dogmatically. That doesn’t mean I don’t hold any opinions on those topics. I have loads. Some of them – mostly the political ones – I hold very strongly and am prepared to march the streets, donate to a cause and publicly argue to try to persuade people over. But I hope I never get to the stage of believing that I am unquestionably right about something and that those who disagree are unquestionably wrong. That seems a poor way to live. I have sometimes been like that in the past, but I think I am not now and hope I won’t be again. For me, unquestioningly accepting a dogma is the coward’s excuse for not thinking for oneself.

That is my opinion, which I acknowledge may be mistaken.

Andrew Kirk

Bondi Junction, April 2019

Mate, Citoyenne, Kameradin

So I was riding to work, right? And I went around the corner on a shared path and came a little bit closer to a family of pedestrians than is ideal. I didn’t come very close, and wasn’t going fast. There was absolutely no danger, or even capacity to frighten, but you know, it’s best to give pedestrians a wide berth on a shared path, because it can be a bit scary when a bike comes near. At least I find it scary when a bike comes near me if I’m not ready for it.

Anyway, I sort of mumble something like ‘Sorry – a bit close’ as I go by and I just see this guy’s face – the father I reckon – looking at me calmly and waiting for me to pass.

My, what a patient guy, I think.

Then, because I can’t help imagining and catastrophising at the same time, I imagine what if he were like one of those alpha males that aggressively yells at anybody given the slightest opportunity, and he abused me? What would I say?

I thought, well I’d probably sheepishly mumble something like ‘Didn’t mean no harm mate’, which I didn’t, you know, and anyway I wasn’t that close, and it was a shared path.

But then it occurs to me that, in Australia ‘Mate’ is as often a challenge as it is an expression of fellow-feeling. Expressed with the right tone of voice at the beginning or end of a sentence, it often means ‘You stupid, quivering, pathetic excuse for a human being (that isn’t as manly as I am)’.

That would been almost the exact opposite of what I meant to convey to the man (who, let us remember, was patient and calm in real life). But that’s the trouble with the word ‘Mate’ here downunder.

Reactionary politicians love to talk about ‘mateship’ being a cornerstone of our culture, as if it’s a good thing. That’s weird. If it just means friendship then how is that specifically Australian? Don’t people in other countries have friends, and aren’t they kind and loyal to them as well? It makes as much sense to claim that as an Australian characteristic as it does for American nationalists to pretend they invented the concept of freedom.

No it means more, and yet less, than that. For a start it’s a specifically masculine term, even though they like to pretend it isn’t. Mateship is about drinking together in the pub until you can barely stand, and then not dobbing in your mate if, when he’s had a few too many, he drives a car, or belts his wife. There’s no room for women in mateship, and very little for non-Caucasians.

So I don’t like mateship, OK. I regard it as toxic, to use the word du jour. Nationalist zealots might say I go too far in my criticisms, but I say Yah, Boo, Sucks to them. Let’s stick with friendship, tolerance and compassion if we want to characterise how we aspire to relate to others.

I don’t like ‘Mate’, but I quite like ‘Comrade’. Partly because it seems so quaint and old fashioned. To me it conjures up Australian icons like Phillip Adams and Gough Whitlam. Round here it is redolent of a bygone age when brave, committed, idealistic (some might say deluded but I don’t think we’re in a position to judge) Australians believed in and worked for the Communist or Socialist dream that they saw as the only way to help the downtrodden, before Stalin, Mao, Ceaușescu and Pol Pot ruined it for us all.

Well they didn’t actually ruin it completely. They sullied it, and nobody wanted to touch it for a few decades. But now that we’re seeing the impact of über-capitalism around the world destroying cultures, livelihoods, employment and the environment, and face the prospect, with AI starting to take away all the jobs, of the world dividing into ten percent or less super-rich who own all the technology and the patents, and the rest are the unemployable, expendable poor…. Maybe now, it’s time to have another look at Comrade.

Now I understand that for people who lived in the Soviet bloc, the word Comrade may have the same horrible associations of aggression as Mate sometimes does in Australia. So maybe that’s not the right word. It would be OK here in Oz, but probably not in Russia (Tovarich) or Rostock (Kameradin / Kamerad).

I have another proposal though – Citizen.

I’ve been reading ‘The Gods Are Thirsty’ by Anatole France. It was written in early 19th century and is set in 1793, four years after the French Revolution and only months before the beginning of ‘the Terror’, the orgy of show trials and guillotinings led by Robespierre, in which 17,000 people were executed and another 10,000 died in prison.

That’s what people called each other after the French Revolution – Citizen (in French  they said Citoyenne for women and Citoyen for men). Just as they called each other Comrade after the Russian Revolution.

Like Comrade, Citizen seems to have a connotation of working together, of shared civic responsibilities, that Mate doesn’t have. I like that. It’s nice to work together, rather than alone.

Shall we call one another Citizen, then?

But wait, what about those 27,000 dead in the French Terror? Did Citizen become just another term of passive aggressive bravado and bullying in the 1790s, just as Mate can be in Australia and maybe Comrade was in the 1930s Soviet Union?

Oh bother! Maybe we can’t call each other Citizen either.

What about ‘Friend’, then? That’s the sort of thing that wise old women and men call you in fantasy epics  when you meet them on the deserted, long and winding roads through the wildlands. Surely that’s good isn’t it? Could we call each other that?

It can sound a bit creepy, I know. Like a stranger trying to insinuate themselves into your confidence. But is that just the product of the modern cynical mind? If we said Friend and meant it, and when it was said to us we accepted it as being meant as a genuine, friendly salutation, would it work? I think it might.

Sadly, it does remind me of another revolution though. Or perhaps this was more of a coup than a revolution – the seizure of power by Julius Caesar and his proclaiming himself emperor.

You know: “Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears”.

Caesar was a fairly violent ruler – he invaded and slaughtered my ancestors for goodness sake! Everybody can find a story of colonisation and persecution of their ancestors if they go back far enough. But it only continues to mean anything if it’s recent enough to affect the memories or the life opportunities and prosperity of people whose ancestors were colonised and persecuted. And that’s not the case for me. Not even as regards the Norman invaders – bastards! And the even more recent English invaders of my Irish ancestors – double bastards! I know that some of my ancestors will have been colonisers of the other ancestors – the Romans, Angles, Saxons, Jutes, Vikings, Normans and English invaded and/or colonised the Britons, Anglo-Saxons and the Irish. But none of my current family were alive at the time of the persecutions, and my life opportunities have not been constrained by them, so I can’t complain.

What about Friend then? Does its association with Caesar and the aftermath of a coup make Friend yet another term that is tainted by association with brutishness?

Well now, I remember of a sudden that it was Shakespeare that wrote that bit about friends and ears, not Caesar. And in any case, Wikipedia tells me that it was Marc Antony, not Caesar, that uttered those words in the play.

So maybe Friend is OK.

Trouble is though, I don’t think I can quite carry it off. I am neither old enough nor wise enough to address people as Friend without appearing like a creep or a dangerous loon.

I think it will have to be Comrade after all. I’ll just be careful not to use it to address anybody that lived under Soviet oppression. And maybe I’ll make the odd switch to Citizen now and then when I want to sound sophisticated and cosmopolitan, provided I am sure there are no survivors of the Terror nearby to be offended by it.

Anything is better than Mate.

Perhaps Mate is okay as a non-sex-specific description of a life partner though, as in ‘puffins mate for life’, which is just so heart-warming, and how could anybody not love puffins? I’ve heard they are disgusting to eat, all oily, fishy and livery, like gelatinised cod liver oil. But that doesn’t worry me since I don’t eat any birds.

Goodbye for now, Comrades.

Andrew Kirk

Bondi Junction, December 2018


I love Peanuts.

There’s a double entendre.

It could mean that I love ground nuts. I do, very much indeed. I can’t imagine living a life without nuts, especially without peanuts. They are the food of the gods.

Or it could mean that I love Charles M Schulz’s comic strip featuring Charlie Brown, Snoopy the beagle, Lucy the bossyboots and others. That is true too. I have some old books of Peanuts comic strips that I have had since I bought them at second-hand markets decades ago, and which I still really treasure.

One sequence of strips I was thinking of recently is when one of the characters – Linus, I think – was telling the others about haphephobia, which he explained in his overly earnest, nerdy way, was a fear of being touched. In one of those strips somebody accidentally almost touches Snoopy, who instantly leaps up metres into the air as an instinctive over-reaction.

I recalled this as I have been thinking recently about touch as a means of non-verbal communication, and how some people tend to touch others when they talk to them, while others assiduously avoid it. I’ll call the former ‘touchy’, pausing only to note that this has nothing in common with the occasional use of that word to mean short-tempered.

When I think about the people I know that are touchy, It seems that most of them are women. The most usual touch is on the forearm, or sometimes the elbow. I know one person who rubs the side of your arm around the elbow when you talk to her – a gesture that I find unusual, but heart-warming.

What do these touches mean? They seem to communicate reassurance, goodwill, perhaps an indication that, right at this point in time, you have their full attention. Whether that is the intended meaning I don’t know. Quite possibly there is no intended meaning. Touchy people seem to be more instinctive than others. Their words and actions stem from their un-self-conscious connection to the great cosmic flow – what Daoists call Wu Wei – rather than from premeditation.

In Anglo-Celtic culture, not many men touch, but some do. In my experience those that do tend to be matey about it, and are more likely to pat on the shoulder or the back than touch the forearm or hand. And they generally only pat other men.

I have habitually been a non-toucher. I don’t quite have haphephobia, but I have been known to flinch slightly when somebody unexpectedly touches me, or even comes close. I don’t know where it comes from. Freud would have us look to our childhood and, like almost every child growing up in the sixties and early seventies, I received plenty of corporal punishment when I was judged to have been naughty. My punishment was considerably lighter than that which many of my school friends told me about, and my parents never struck me on the head or anywhere that would cause any damage other than redness that lasted an hour or so. But nevertheless I can remember cringing before the blows that a parent was – with all the best intentions and believing that they were morally obliged to do this no matter how much they disliked doing it – about to deliver. Perhaps I cringed because I had a nervous disposition, or maybe my disposition became more nervous because of the punishment. I can’t tell. I do know that many of my contemporaries seemed to be less physically nervous than I, so I Imagine my genetic predisposition played at least some part in it.

Whatever the reason, I have not been good at being touched and have certainly not been a toucher. But recently this has been changing. Perhaps I have been listening to too many philosophy podcasts about ‘authenticity’ and about how relationships with others are the only real thing in the world. Whether with conscious effort or just because one tends to relax more as one matures, I have become more capable of tolerating unexpected touch without flinching.

But wait, there’s more!

I have, to my immense surprise, started to become, every now and then, a toucher. At first I surprised myself by, on occasion, gently tapping a forearm or a shoulder. Never on skin of course! We Anglo-Celtics need the reassurance of a shirt or jumper beneath our hand in order to feel that one is not being improper. Maybe some of the later taps were deliberate. It’s hard to tell. But even though some taps may have been pre-considered, the overall trend is not. There is no plan.

The forearms and shoulders that I find myself tapping or patting are exclusively those of men. I think that is partly deliberate and partly instinctive. I have had it so soundly drummed into me that any uninvited touch of a woman other than one’s life partner is not acceptable, that I have big unconscious barriers against ever doing that. In any case, in the current climate it seems wise to proscribe such actions to avoid the possibility of misinterpretation. It seems a pity, but that’s just one of many ways that the Harvey Weinsteins of the world have made things so much worse for others. I wonder what other people think about that, and whether it will change with time. At least many women feel no constraint against touching men to whom they are talking, as well as, of course, other women.

I have been surprised too, about how non-frightening and positive it can be to do a simple tap or pat. It is such an efficient way to communicate goodwill and support and, unlike supportive words, it doesn’t seem to run the risk of being interpreted as sarcastic. There’s so much sarcasm in the world. We don’t need people inferring it when it’s not there.

This gradual opening to the possibility of touch seems a good development. But there’s one Anglo-Celtic reservation I have that I don’t think will ever change. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to tolerate a massage. It just creeps me out to much, people poking around in my neck muscles and such like. There are too many fragile parts in there that I feel are on the verge of getting damaged. And it’s too close to being tickled, which I never was keen on. I don’t know whether the childhood cringing from imminent punishment plays a part in it as well. Massages are supposed to make you relax but, for me, they do the opposite. Still, plenty of people like massages, so me not having any just means there are more for the rest of you.

A cynic might say ‘What’s the big deal? People touch skin to skin all the time in the business world, when they shake hands at the start of a meeting!’ That is true and, being in the business world, I do that as well, with nary a thought. But it doesn’t count, and you know it doesn’t count, you cynics! Shaking hands is a meaningless stylised ritual that has long passed its usefulness. They say it was originally invented in order to show somebody you met that you weren’t holding a weapon (an urban myth?). Except when visiting or living in the USA, I think that these days we can take as read the weaponlessness of those we meet. Plus it spreads germs. I sometimes wonder ‘What if I’m about to break out in a cold? I’d hate to give it to somebody else.’. We all know that the most infectious period with a cold is just before you realise you have one – or is that another urban myth? I admire the Japanese, who bow when meeting people for business, and then present business cards in a pleasingly formal way.

The point is that it’s the voluntariness of the unbidden touch that can make it so scary to do, or to receive. There’s nothing scary in what is mandated, as handshakes before business meetings are. Or, for that matter, the compulsory ballroom dancing lessons we had in senior high school, where we boys had to hold girls’ hands as we marched to and fro, then twirled them about, or twirled about them, whichever it was (I wasn’t terribly good at ballroom dancing). We were mostly too terrified even to talk to the girls at school, let alone touch them (we outnumbered them five to one so it seemed presumptuous to assume any of these rare and special humans would wish to hear anything we had to say), but when the dancing mistress fixes you with her beady eye and snaps ‘Take positions! Join hands! Go!’, you just obey.

This essay at one point had the word ‘sashayed’ in it (can you guess where?). But now it doesn’t. I think that’s an improvement.

Andrew Kirk
Bondi Junction, August 2018