Fear of Snakes

1.) Among the most acceptable and masculine phobias a man can be afflicted with, fear of snakes ranks toward the top of the list. While you won't exhibit any signs of valor in your fear of snakes, it's hard to argue that such a phobia is insensible. Certain species of snakes are highly dangerous. The spitting cobra, for instance, can emit venom into the eyes of a potential predator from ten feet away. The black mamba, as I learned from watching a movie, strikes with indefensible quickness and injects venom in its prey, causing a futile struggle with paralysis that leads to a feckless and slow death. Not all snakes are as lethal, of course—it will always be lame to fear wispy squiggles like garter snakes—but it is wise to remember that some snakes can really fuck you up.

That stated, snakes don't especially scare me. It's rational to fear deadly animals, and in most cases, snakes do not qualify as such. Snakes are mostly harmless; they tend to be little more than ambitious worms with lively tongues and scaly skin. Snakes are a lot like Muslims, actually: By and large, they are a peaceful group, but the most nefarious examples of their kind tarnish the perception of the group as a whole.* Only 10-15% of snakes are venomous. The percentage of evil, lowlife Muslims is about the same. If you live in the mid-west United States, there is not much sense in fearing Muslims or snakes. One could be a friendly neighbor who shovels your front sidewalk out of sheer kindness while the other could be your child's pet as he goes through a phase of reptile-obsession. But if you journey to Afghanistan on a cave-spelunking trip or wish to soak up the poverty and widespread A.I.D.S. along the Nile River valley, a sufficient fear of Muslims or snakes, respectively, is prudent and could mean the difference between death and survival.

I try to minimize the chances that a fearful situation will occur, and so it is doubtful I will ever vacation in Afghanistan or the Nile River valley. I only wish to deal with snakes and Muslims that are not likely to cause me harm. Steve Irwin, once a brave hunter of crocodiles and the like, and some members of the American military would tell me I don't know what I'm missing. Irwin is dead, though, and the same goes, sadly, for many soldiers who fought in Iraq and Afghanistan. I am not of their ilk, for good or ill.

***

2.) With few exceptions, the best humorists are compassionate people with sinister imaginations. This observation helps explain why Mark Twain rallied for the abolishment of slavery and exposed the pratfalls of prejudiced minds in his novel that featured a degrading term for black people with such frequency that it almost seemed as if he was afraid racism would soon go out of style. Moral advancement aside, because of his sinister imagination, Twain also felt inclined to demonstrate that racism can be awfully funny.

It seems Harriet Beecher Stowe thought otherwise. She wrote the novel Uncle Tom's Cabin. Not many laughs came from that one. Harriet was never much of a humorist, but if morality can be likened to a climb up a steep mountain, she probably held a perch loftier than Twain. It makes sense. The Bible, the word of God, is bereft of humor, too. For instance, Adam and his son Seth fathered children at the ages of 130 and 105, respectively—and you can dismiss all bunk theories that advances in medicine that span centuries somehow pertain to increased life-expectancies since pretty much everyone back then lived to be nearly a thousand years old. No foolin'!

Nope. There is nothing (intentionally) ludicrous or comical about those claims from the book of Genesis.

People speculate, but nobody knows a thing about God's sense of humor. All of His messages in the Bible were so damn serious. Granted, His alleged creation of such silly species as the sea cow, the tit mouse, and the balding white man might indicate His fondness for irreverence, but regardless, the question of what (if anything) makes God laugh will always be an exasperating one.

It's much easier for believers in God to infer what He deems right and wrong as opposed to what He deems funny and unfunny. If your intent is to create some sort of art for a living and then ascend to a scenic retirement community in the sky not long after you die, trying your hand at humor could cause you serious trouble. It's safer to use your art to straightforwardly instill in people hope and courage, or to scold them for their sins and demand they they change their ways—without getting matters complicated by humor.

The book I wrote includes the sentence, “Hope is like a cockroach in the nuclear winter.” My hunch is that God thought that line was just swell. Later in that essay, though, I joked that the outcome of a baseball game—the outcome that meant my favorite team had lost game six of the National League Championship Series in 2003—was a catastrophe of greater magnitude than the deaths of many people who were burned alive in a nightclub inferno on the night of a Great White concert. At that point, I may very well have squandered any merit points I had earned from God with that bit about hope and cockroaches.**

If that scenic retirement community in the sky denies me membership, I will have my sinister imagination to blame. Twain might not have made the grade, either. Damnation by jokes would prevent me sitting at the kiddie table at one of Twain's celestial hootenannies. (Assuming there is an afterlife. Assuming he'd invite me. Assuming parties are allowed in heaven. Faith gets pretty ridiculous...I guess that's the appeal.)

***

1.) meets 2.) My friend Tad Lightly is afraid of snakes. I learned this tidbit while we were watching Raiders of the Lost Ark. The scene in which Indiana Jones is dropped into a snake-pit was unfolding, and Tad reacted with dismay equal to that of the cinematic hero. The very image of feisty snakes viewed on a television screen incited in Tad spasms of nervous squirming. Their hisses and especially their slithers, he said— laughing aversely—really gave him the creeps. Oddly enough, he seemed to be mimicking the very pattern of movement that made him so uncomfortable as he told me this.

As I stated before, it's sensible to fear deadly snakes. But fearing the image of deadly snakes (filmed in 1981, no less) is a bit silly. Those were just movie snakes, Tad. They were on-set for a few hours simply to look scary before collecting paychecks to fund their expensive cocaine habits.

Weeks after the Indiana Jones episode, I asked Tad if the story of original sin had any bearing on his fear of snakes, if he put any stock in that timeless yarn about the snake embodied by the Devil that enticed and deceived Eve with an apple in the Garden of Eden.

His eyes lit up to match the cherry flare of his cigarette on the darkened front porch. He nodded quickly and I gathered that his catechism classes featured illustrations in books of Biblical re-tellings, and that among these illustrations was the vile serpent from Genesis that inflicted the bane of sin on humankind.

“Those books from early CCD classes,” he said, “Tried to influence kids to be like Johnny and Sally DoGooder. Don't swear. Don't smoke. Help old ladies cross the street. All that stuff. Sometimes Johnny and Sally were tempted by sin—to steal some fireworks or burn down a doll house or what-have-you—and they'd have a flashback to a story from the Bible. The snake would always make his case for doing the wrong thing, wrapped around the branch of an apple tree and hissing with that tongue of his, and then Jesus would show up to weigh in about doing the right thing.

“The idea was to agree with Jesus every time and never take the snake's advice. I guess the snake was drawn instead of the actual Devil because the sight of Satan would really scare little kids. So they drew a snake in place of Satan, and the look on the face of that fucking snake was freaky.”

Again, it was not the physical presence but the image of snakes, in this case the devil incarnate's bloodshot hypnotic stare and lashing tongue forked like a trident, that instilled fear in Tad.

He was, however, able to recall one instance in which he went to the Milwaukee County Zoo a few years ago. He saw all sorts of monkeys, bears, and penguins, but with the sun beating down intensely, he wandered into the Aquatic and Reptile Center, seeking refuge from the heat. Inside the building, mere feet from where he stood, he caught sight of two sparring snakes on display in an oblong, glass case. They were coiling around each other and tightening with deadly intent, determined to squeeze their rival lifeless with a heinous POP of insides oozing out.

On the front porch, he grimaced and intertwined his hands and forearms to mime the snakes' intimate battle. The gesture, coupled with facial expression, called to mind what it must be like to walk in on 2 gruesome elders caught in a fatal Kama Sutra pose.

Those sparring snakes in the Reptile Center repulsed him. Suddenly the summer heat didn't bother him.

“It was disgusting,” Tad told me. “I turned and darted out of there.”

“You didn't even stick around to see which snake won the fight?”

“Hell, no,” he scoffed. “I hope they BOTH died.”

“I'd have bet some money on the larger of the two snakes,” I said. “More squeezing power.”

He let out a quiet chuckle. I paused to gather my thoughts.

“Let me ask you this: Would you rather do some adventuring and then have some beers with Indiana Jones or Han Solo?”

He considered the question.

“Hmm. I guess I'd have to say Han Solo. Space travel would be pretty sweet. In the Millennium Falcon, no less. Han's more of an outlaw, too. He's not a part-time college professor like Indy. Han can probably pound those space-beers. When the adventures are done, Indy might want to be left alone so he can read up on archeology.”

He didn't mention snakes in his explanation. Blast!


I had asked a loaded question, though. The fact that he chose Han Solo means Tad wants to avoid snake-encounters altogether. Had he chosen Indiana Jones, however, I could just as easily say it's because he relates to Dr. Jones due to the fear of snakes they share. That Tad omitted any mention of snakes suggests his phobia carries a subconscious weight as well. And since he'd rather circumvent snakes entirely alongside of Han Solo in a galaxy far, far away, it can be inferred that his Ophidiophobia*** is acute rather than moderate. In addition, it seems Ophidiophobia has alienating and not bonding effects on those afflicted with it—lest why would Tad leave Indy to suffer alone in that hypothetical snake-pit?

Ah, but I am using words like “suggests,” “inferred,” and “seems” to mock someone I care about. That's low. I'll never write a book so full of truth that people are forced to place their right hands on it before they testify in court—and what's worse, I think the book that actually serves that purpose is partially bullshit.

The best humorists are compassionate people with sinister imaginations. And mischief flickers with so much appeal when I dwell on what my friends are afraid of. Got a phobia? If you play your cards right, you can befriend me so I can make jokes about it. Sinister imagination? You bet. But I'm starting to wonder how compassion factors into all of this. Maybe my morals are out of whack. Maybe I need redemption. Maybe I should focus on the parts of the Bible that are worth pledging an oath to...

I swear I'm not afraid of snakes. I see them as meager projections of the dark half of a story that is of the utmost magnitude. The struggle between good and evil is very real to anyone paying the slightest attention in this life. That slice of truth, I believe, can be traced back to an intangible**** genesis—God vs. Satan. If Satan really took the form of a snake, then God must have embodied the spirit of Christ, if only to lend balance to the story. Higher powers take turns rolling dice on the souls of mortals. It is free will and not luck or fatalism that decides which side wins each and every game. Know the stakes, buddy—and at the risk of preaching morals, please don't let the dice turn up snake-eyes.



* Another similarity: Muslims and snakes are both unpopular (and some might say frightening) sights on airplanes. Note to self: Write a script for a movie called Muslims on a Plane.
** And those tumor jokes won't help my cause, either.
***Fear of snakes.
****And unknowable. Talk about a mortal bummer.