Corona Virus as a Science Fiction Tragedy

by

Obododimma Oha


Some people make the mistake of thinking that science fiction (sci-fi, for short) is fantasy for young people who are crackpots. Science fiction may have dwelt on matters that are classified as puerile but can bring up serious issues about human life. It can point the way to new possibilities and inventions waiting.  It has also extensively looked at disease and human survival in the world. These doomsday narratives have been warning and cautioning, asking us to get ready with strategies for addressing the hypothetical situation.

As someone who has been consuming some of these narratives, I see a similarity between what is playing out now as Corona Virus Scare and many cases we have in science fiction narratives. When I was just thinking about  putting together this essay, I had to refer to some existent knowledge on the Internet  about those narratives. Here is an interesting explanation on Wikipedia about apocalyptic fiction, which we are thinking about:

Apocalyptic fiction does not portray catastrophes, or disasters, or near-disasters that do not result in apocalypse. A threat of an apocalypse does not make a piece of fiction apocalyptic. For example, Armageddon and Deep Impact are considered disaster films and not apocalyptic fiction because, although Earth and/or humankind are terribly threatened, in the end they manage to avoid destruction.

So, following this line of thinking, let us say that Corona Virus Scare is both disaster in outlook and apocalyptic, after all, there is a prediction that the epidemic would go away after sometime; we will manage to overcome it. And a new world will follow. But the route taken is disaster, and people may watch helplessly while loved ones suffer and die, or are isolated. That is very painful and a challenge to our humanity.

If I call it a tragedy, that is in a simple sense that many have perished in fighting it. I also refer to the classical sense of tragedy as something painful from which  some ironically derive pleasure or catharsis. An account of that catharsis has to include, not just the enjoyment of some conspiracy theories emerging from it, but also the fact that the characters mentioned in those narratives seem to derive some pleasure from what they are doing – performing experiments with human beings and trying to see if they can enact disaster! How different is that from the gladiatorial shows of the ancient Roman Empire? In the process of reading up for this essay, I came across conspiracy theories pointing towards the escape of the viruses from an American laboratory and another an experiment gone awry in a Chinese laboratory. These are just some of the emergent conspiracy theories.

The only difference, you would say, is that the science fiction narratives were imagined, scripted, revised, and then, published. But you are looking at real life. Reality has learnt to imitate fiction. Nothing prevents our world from modelling its life, its experiences, after what obtains in science fiction narratives. Are we not the fictional characters acting our roles and learning from science fiction? If Corona experience turns out to be apocalyptic, that, too, is a learning experience.

When Denial Annoys Even the Devil

By

Obododimma Oha

Denial is a typical human discursive activity, which is obviously an attempt at defending the self, showing the self as blameless. When that self is blameworthy and one is claiming to be blameless, it is damaging to the image of self. It is laughable and also seems to imply the following, which are likewise annoying:

(i) others are fools;

(ii) others can believe just anything;

(iii) others are under some control and can do anything that they are told;

(iv) others do not make use of their brains – somebody has to think for them.

(v) relationship with these others is founded on deception.

One can then understand why the devil is grossly annoyed in the film, Suing the Devil, in which a salesperson and poor law student, Luke O’Brien, sues the devil for eight trillion dollars, for the disasters and harm he has caused in the world. Oh, you are smiling, too! This special but seemingly laughable court case goes on ridiculously, people wondering how the devil, a supposedly non-existent entity, would appear to defend himself. But the devil appears though unrecognized in the court-room, wearing a suit and with his team of powerful attorneys. The aspect that concerns us is his annoyance over the claim that he does not exist. Initially, he finds that funny, but at some point, does not find it funny again. He gets angry, even with the presiding judge, stands up and tells him to shut up, whether it is not he (the devil) that has been doing wonderful things for him, including promoting him. He has also helped other attorneys present, who are arguing that he is fiction! Who has the courage to charge him with contempt of court in that supernatural manifestation? How could the immortal be subject to human law, including resolving disputes based on their little knowledge (for which they are very proud!) with an idea about whose arguments are smarter? Nonsense! So, the devil, starred by Malcolm McDowell, finds human denial and court-room discourse really deficient and grossly infuriating.

Released to the public in 2011, written and produced by Tim Chey, Suing the Devil shows us how far in logic our tendency to deny can go and should annoy us if we really make use of our brains. Indeed, it is the kind of discourse about the devil that C.S. Lewis, the author of the famous Screwtape Letters, would find exceptionally inspiring. Allhough the film has a Christian evangelical ring to it, it is very relevant to the logic of how we deny or accept things in discourse: it challenges us to think critically about denial in discourse and about reality. Is the act of denial not really an invitation for us to think, to probe things deeper or is it for us to accept whatever we are told? If we are prone to accept whatever we are told, does that not show that our population of people are the easiest to rule by any fool? Does it not seem to say that ignorance is still food in that very context and that the ruling group may want to perpetuate it?

Furthermore, the film invites us to look at court-room discourse and reality again. It seems our courtroom discourse overlooks certain things and carries on conservatively at the way it looks at reality and evidence. The courtroom order is typically Western and would not admit any evidence from Ifa or any other system that is not observable. Above all, it privileges the nonsense that one’s proud argument along conservative lines is able to say. In that case, it recognises just one reality and dismisses fiction as a mere dream, just as the film itself remains a mere dream!

What is the boundary between dream and reality, particularly in a courtroom discourse that places some importance on talk, on argument? This boundary will continue to operate outside the law, but could be flouted sometimes as we demand justice. When one thinks of suing the devil or an angel, one is considered mad but held hostage by one reality. How would that reality understand the insanity as sanity?

There could be a rational basis for denial in some cases. For instance, if you assert that the author of this essay is the current President of USA, he could deny the assertion and we could easily agree with him. The weight of evidence would weigh in his favor. Also, if one says: "It is well" when I know that it is not, I could say the assertion is false, even if rhetorical. Further, if somebody claims that he cannot function efficiently in power because his predecessors performed badly, is he not begging the question and merely being defensive? One should know when to deny ("Ihe a gba n'aka, a naghị asị weta enyo ka e lelee ya" (A  mirror is not required to see a bracelet that one is wearing). One should know when denial becomes ridiculous. What is obvious is obvious. A denial is not a profession, neither is it concrete action. Denial is discursive and only shows that one is merely looking for excuses.

Obi Ndi Uka: the beginning

By

Obododimma Oha

Today, I remember my childhood. One aspect of my childhood I remember with gladness in particular is a discourse about church as an arbiter, obi ndi ụka, (literally “the mind of the church person” or “a Christian spirit...”). As children, we fought a lot over trivialities, but we quickly made up and became friends again, sharing the little chewables we could find: stale groundnuts, bean cakes, pieces of bread, biscuits, candies, chewing gum, etc. These were tempting and there was obi ndi ụka standing nearby, waiting to settle quarrels and convince us to share. Obi ndi ụka welded a community of sharers; it was only adulthood that came later to turn the soup sour, to make the quarrel last long and put heavy luggage on tender hearts. It was hard-hearted adulthoood that knew the difference between sin and righteousness, Heaven and Hell. But as children, the law was obi ndi ụka: it quickly settled quarrels and gave us justice.

How was obi ndi ụka able to work the magic? Two children would have a disagreement, maybe a fight, and a third party would come forward and throw the obi ndi ụka challenge (considering the mind of the Christian in the matter) and that would be the reason to forgive. Obi ndi ụka was what one subscribed to in the catechism class. One would not like to miss Heaven because of another person and because of a little difference. So, one quickly forgave. One had to do obi ndi ụka in the matter, not that one had accepted being treated unjustly or being cheated. One just had to do obi ndi ụka, to show that there was a difference, to suffer injustice, hoping that God was taking note. Doing obi ndi ụka was obviously a way of scoring moral points and moving on. It was the mind of the just, the mind of God. In that case, only the Devil would not do obi ndi ụka. Simply this: the Devil must be hard-hearted, we imagined. We would not like to be like the Devil! 

It was considered strange, very strange, for one to be a Christian and not have obi ndi ụka and not be able to do obi ndi ụka. What kind of Christianity was that? It puzzled us and we just had to make sure that we did obi ndi ụka, and God was always the witness.

Maybe we were very naive and obi ndi ụka was a simplistic interpretation of the Christian attitude. Maybe it was because of that naivety that adults have to struggle with camels to enter the eye of a needle but children are warmly welcome to sit beside the son of God. Maybe our witness is our witness, standing beside the evidence!

How that discourse of obi ndi ụka easily becomes  a way of seeing things and looking at the world differently. It was because of obi ndi ụka that we were able to be playmates, sharers, and people who could watch the other’s back as we stole mangoes or roamed the bushes and shot noisy squirrels. It was because of obi ndi ụka that we were able to be one, even though from various homesteads. Obi ndi ụka was a major law, our major guide. To lose it was to lose one’s way.

Come to think of it, obi ndi ụka was a special logic, the reason for a reason. What reason was greater than a reason? There has to be a reason behind a reason. Call it “super-reason.” That “super-reason” is superior and over-riding. We were its subjects.

Indeed, invoking the authentic mind of the church person was a way of confessing that there is a difference between a fake and a genuine one. Who would not want to be intepellated and governed by the genuine one? Who would not want to take sides with it? Who would want the inability to idenitfy with genuine become the reason for losing? Not me! And so, one was wholly for obi ndi ụka and supported its intervention.

It is interesting how that discourse brought peace. Fighters made up and became friends again. No more aggression. No more conflict, at least at that point. All  were for the other. It was the order of obi ndi ụka. But selfishness belonged elsewhere. One community of children; one principle of obi ndi ụka.

Has obi ndi ụka just travelled? I can’t seem to see that beautiful fellow at home! Where have you gone, obi ndi ụka? Children of this and that homestead are looking for you. They want you to touch them. They want you to guide them. They want you to help them to form community. They want to have a “super-reason.”

Argument and Image of Self

By

Obododimma Oha


Anyone who monitors happenings on various platforms on social media, whether on Facebook or WhatsApp, whether on listservs or on Telegram, would testify to the fact that subscribers are often involved in one form of endless argument or another. It sometimes looks like a championship in a theatre and each arguer seems yoked to give a response so as to equalize. I wonder whether such arguers have peace of mind and do something else instead of being worried and going back to read a reaction and to prove a point. The best thing seems to be as the Igbo would say: Onye Imo hụrụ ụkwụ ya ka ọ na-eburu (Anyone whose  feet are sighted by River Imo is the person it carries away) . And so, it is better to leave that person kittting up for a battle to fight self and self alone!

So, if you want to see argument and the performance of the pride over who knows and who does not, go the various forums on social media.

 All the same, people argue so as to enrich the thinking of others and to try to influence behaviour. It is not just to show off. This form of rhetoric is at the heart of human intersubjectivity. We depend on one another. No one knows it all. We,therefore, need other people to bring their ideas to fertilize ours. Other people’s knowledge is really our own resources. Ours is incomplete and is asking to be allowed to become complete, always.

I have identified argument as a form of rhetoric and an appeal to reason, to thinking. It is asking us to think as beings and to think properly. Stephen Toulmin has a good thinking about argument as rhetoric. I unreservedly recomment him. He shows us that it is a process whereby we have to provide proofs or evidence for claims we advance. That is proper, but make sure your proofs are sound, properly supported by other acceptable grounds.

This is where one can bring in more fully the way argument affects self, not just promoting self as a knower. First, a weak proof, say an appeal to pathos pretending to be an appeal to reason, can easily reveal the arguer as being shallow-minded and fraudulently trying to score a point.

Further, when something is obvious and has been proved beyond reasonable doubt and one is still arguing, hoping to win, it is obvious that one is further demolishing one’s argument, presenting self as an idiot, and arguing for the sake of arguing.

That self is further distanced and we are being told indirectly to avoid the fellow.

I once had a friend who would argue and argue endlesssly. If you got exhausted and told him that he had won, he would turn around and ask: “How have I won?” That was obviously designed to start another round of argument. The best thing was not to change the topic, for he was still lying in wait. The best thing would be to just run away.

So, what is my admonition? Simply this: do not always argue for the sake of winning arguments. Think of the poor image you cut for yourself before others.Argue, mainly to enrich the thinking of others. If you argue to be seen as the only wise person around, you are, indeed, unwise. Argue because you must, not to add to the problems of others. There is time and context to argue. It is not every time and every where and in every thing. Think and rethink the argument.