Dead Can Dance, But They Can’t Spell: January 13, 2006

In which the dead return to bug me.

Categorized

Well, it’s Friday the 13th, which means that things must inevitably go wrong — and no, I’m not talking about that goddamn Microsoft Windows security hole, although some stupid site did try to send me a Trojan (virus, not condom) and it took me two entire days to download the official patch for both of my computers because DAMN is that download slow. Seriously — I painted my nails while I was waiting, then watched the paint dry, the nails grow out, and the little grimy germs that live in my nail beds evolve into a sentient race and harness the power of fire. By the time the download finished, my germs had developed warp speed and been accepted into the Federation. And all the girl germs had slept with Will Riker.

I have a topic, really I do, and I’m going to get to it right now, so please stay seated and hold onto the safety bar. The topic is: Reincarnation, or I Know What You Did Last Summer Because Your Spirit Took Over My Body, You Friggin’ Undead Claim-Jumper. For some reason, I keep tripping over this topic wherever I go, which means the universe wants me to write an entry about it. Fortunately, I am always willing to write entries about religious abstracts that rarely affect my readers’ everyday lives. Unfortunately, I happen to be the reincarnation of Dan Quayle, which means that this entry won’t make any sense at all… wait a minute, he’s not dead? Oh. Looks like you’re spared the madness, then. (Potatoe.)

In my oh-so-scientific way, I have been pondering the nature of spiritual reincarnation and historical-celebrity obsession, and have come up with what I call the Three Stages of Obsession. (These are not to be confused with the Three Stooges of Obsession, who are off in the corner hitting each other over the head with herrings.) In describing these stages, I will be using the real historical personage of Officer William Murdoch, one of the victims of the Titanic disaster, as my Guinea Pig of Descriptive Doom. (He won’t mind, I’m sure — after the crap he’s been put through on the reincarnationist sites, the liberties I take will seem downright tame.)

Scenario #1: On The Outside, Looking In

This is not really a reincarnation scenario at all — this is just typical historical research. Example: I really like Officer Murdoch, so I decide to do some research on him, maybe even write a biography. Though I like the guy a lot, I am secure enough in my own identity that I don’t feel the need to become him.

Of course, being “on the outside” doesn’t mean you can’t feel close to the person. Murdoch, for example, probably had a few drooling female fans back in his day, and seems to have even more now. If I had a nickel for every time I’ve come across a girl or woman who’s “in love” with Murdoch, I could build a psych ward and take in patients for free. Not that I’m calling these people nuts — mostly, I’d say they’re just a bit too free with their emotions. For teenage girls, this is pretty much the norm; hell, even I had a raging crush on Archbishop Thomas Cranmer when I was an adolescent. But past the age of, say, twenty-five — it gets to seem a bit pathetic. By that time, a person generally realizes that you can’t be in love with someone you don’t know, someone whom you’ve never even met or corresponded with. You can admire them, certainly, but love? Nah.

Scenario #2: Let’s Play Pretend!

While this may not be too far removed from Scenario #1, it crosses the line between fiction and fact — crosses it, but does not obscure it. Example: the depiction of Murdoch in James Cameron’s movie Titanic, as played by actor Ewan Stewart. While many of the character’s actions are fairly historically accurate, several are not — Murdoch’s suicide was, and still is, only a rumor, as is the shooting of the two passengers, and there is no evidence whatsoever that Murdoch took any bribes on that night or any other nights. Screwing with the historical record would be damnable in a pure-bred biography, but Cameron’s movie is a work of fiction, and is pretty easily interpreted as such. While he doesn’t tack on any explicit disclaimers, one hopes that the average viewer isn’t dumb enough to think that he’s watching a documentary. (Personally, I was tipped off by Kate Winslet’s boobs — everyone knows that well-bred Edwardian ladies didn’t have any breasts whatsoever. Breasts = sex = sinful!)

Should Cameron have taken such liberties with a real historical character? That’s a question that has been hotly debated ever since the movie came out. Murdoch’s own family condemned the depiction, and eventually earned an apology from Cameron, who now says he probably should have tempered the character a bit. Personally, I think that the movie-Murdoch’s actions make for interesting viewing, add a significant touch of pathos to the proceedings, and don’t stray so far from the record that they become entirely unbelievable. As long as you remember you’re watching fiction, it’s all pretty good entertainment.

Scenario #3: I Am He As You Are He (And We Are All Together)

These folks are… well, quite frankly, they’re the ones you don’t want to sit next to at the fancy Titanic society dinners. Never content to just be a fan, they want to be the fellows with the fans — they want to jump right into the worshipped one’s skin and live his or her life all over again. Failing that, they do the next best thing: they absorb. They become the object of their obsession, as much as their talents will allow; they memorize the facts and mimic the mannerisms, and tie all the loose bits together into a horde of “memories” experienced by the person. How do they explain this strange play-acting? It’s all very simple, they say: in a past life, they were that person. At this point, you would be well advised to start edging slowly away from them; you’re about to be hit with a recounted deluge of “experiences” and “memories” of life as J. Bruce Ismay, Officer Murdoch, or Rigel the Wonder Dog.

From the few “past-life memories” I’ve read about, most of the flashbacks the hosts seem to get are very emotional, often focusing around a moment of intense feeling. They also tend to be pretty generic — a memory of a Victorian-era London street, for instance, is described vaguely enough that it could be almost any turn-of-the-century lane; there are never any details that would make that particular street stand out. Aside from the night of April 14, 1912, most hosts can’t seem to pin down any memory to any specific time, day, or even year. Interestingly enough, these past-life memories become much more vivid and detailed when they refer to an event which can be easily referenced online or in books. (And don’t get me started on the people who “remember” something that only happened in the James Cameron movie.)

At this point, you’re probably chuckling to yourself and saying, “Romy, you don’t know the history of reincarnation. I do.” To which I can only respond: GET THE HELL OFF MY SITE, TOM CRUISE. Now that he’s gone, let me prove that I’m not making any of this up by showing you an example of one of the many reincarnationist sites out there, this one being Titanic-related. I came across this message board a few days ago, and — never having gotten the point of that saying about curiosity and its bad effects on felines — did a bit of poking around. These were the first thoughts that sprang to mind:

  1. The dead can’t spell.
  2. All Scottish/Irish dialects and accents are symbolized by “och” and “’tis”
  3. The dead can’t spell.
  4. How did humanity communicate before smilies were invented?
  5. SERIOUSLY, THE DEAD CAN’T SPELL.

You know, if the spirits of the dead were truly this bad at spelling, Ouija boards would have become defunct long ago.

At first, it was all rather amusing, in a please-kill-me-now-the-teenybopper-fanfic-writers-are-after-me sort of way. I vaguely remember writing stuff like this back in my first pre-teen fanfics, which remain blessedly unpublished. Of course, there are two main differences between my adolescent fantasies and these works of… stuff:

  1. I was twelve years old and therefore hormonally deranged, and
  2. I wasn’t writing about real people. (No, not even Thomas Cranmer.)

Now, these people have got to be — what, at least in their late teens? My age? Mid-30s? Hell, some of them even have kids my age. One would think the hormones would have cut them a little slack by now, but nooo — apparently, there are grown adults out there who still think it’s fantastically romantic for a guy to cheat on his wife. I’m certainly not one to insist upon the sacrosanct nature of the dead (see: poking fun at dead Titanic officers, above), but dammit, there are limits, and spreading rumors about a married man having a long-time mistress and a post-mortem illegitimate child is just wrong and wronger.

This raises all sorts of questions about the ethics of reincarnation. If you, a reincarnated spirit, meet another reincarnated spirit who did you wrong in a past life, should you take revenge? If a reincarnated spirit meets a living person who wronged them in a past life, can they still take action against them, legally or otherwise? Think of all the lawsuits we would have — he raped me in a past life, she killed me in a past life, they’re spreading nasty rumors about me in THIS life and I want to sue them for libel. How come none of the reincarnated Murdochs seem to take issue with the Cameron portrayal? And why don’t any of the reincarnated Lightollers object to being painted as liars — it was Lightoller who insisted that Murdoch hadn’t killed himself, both under oath and in a letter to Murdoch’s widow. Why do the spirits of the dead always seem to be trying to spread scandal about themselves, rather than hide it?

In conclusion, I’d like to state that, despite my flippant remarks and friendly jibes, I have nothing but the greatest respect for those who sincerely believe in the doctrine of reincarnation. Wait — that wasn’t me talking, that was Friend Quayle. It’s a terrible thing to lose one’s mind…

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