[Music]
 This is the third selection from the Alan Watts lecture series, "The Tao of Philosophy."
 It's entitled, "Coincidence of Opposites."
 For this selection, we've combined two contrasting talks from different periods in Alan Watts' life.
 The first was done live on public radio in 1960 for KPFA in Berkeley, California.
 It was called, "The Sense of Nonsense."
 It's an academic discussion of the feeling of meaninglessness and how we make sense of things.
 Side B was recorded late in Alan Watts' life and reveals him as a master philosopher able to take on any subject.
 These selections are produced as a joint effort between the Electronic University and the Philosophy Store.
 At the end of this program, we will give you an address to write for further program information.
 And now, here's Alan Watts.
 [Music]
 It's very commonly said that the root of most human unhappiness is the sense that one's life has no meaning.
 This is, I suppose, most frequently said in circles interested in psychotherapy,
 because the feeling of meaninglessness is often equated with the existence of neurosis.
 And so many activities into which one is encouraged to enter,
 philosophies one is encouraged to believe and religions one is encouraged to join,
 are commended on the basis of the fact that they give life a meaning.
 And I think it's very fascinating to think of what this idea itself means,
 or what it is intended when it's said that life has to have a purpose.
 I remember so well as a child listening to sermons in church,
 in which the preacher would constantly refer to God's purpose for you and for me.
 And I could never make out what it was,
 because when questioned about this, the reverend gentleman seemed to be evasive.
 What is the purpose of God for the world?
 We used to sing a hymn, too, "God is working his purpose out as year succeeds to year."
 And the nearest clue one got to it was in the sort of refrain of the hymn,
 "nearer and nearer draws the time, the time that shall surely be,
 when the earth shall be filled with the glory of God as the waters cover the sea."
 And of course that raises the question, what is the glory of God?
 Well now, it's pretty obvious, I think, that when we talk about life having or not having a meaning,
 we're not using quite the ordinary sense of the word "meaning" as the attribute of a sign.
 We're not saying, are we, that we expect this natural universe to behave as if it were a collection of words
 signifying something other than themselves.
 It isn't a point of view which would reduce our lives and the world merely to the status of signs.
 And it's obviously in some different sense than that, that Goethe wrote his famous lines at the end of Faust,
 "Alles Vergehentliche ist nur ein Gleichnis." Forgive my pronunciation of German.
 All that is mortal or all that is perishable is but a symbol.
 And so, a symbol of what?
 What do we want to feel? What would satisfy us as being the meaning behind this world?
 It's so often, you know, that we don't follow our ideas and our desires through.
 Most of the things that we want very fervently are things that we've only half glimpsed.
 Our ideals are very often suggestions, hints, and we don't know really exactly what we mean when we think about it.
 But there is this obscure sense in which we feel that life ought to have significance
 and be a symbol in at least that sense, if not just so arid a symbol as a mere sign.
 Or it also may mean that life is meaningful.
 An individual feels that his life amounts to something when he belongs
 and fits in with the execution of some group enterprise.
 He feels he belongs in a plan.
 And this too seems to give people a sense of great satisfaction.
 But we have to pursue that question further too.
 Why is it that a plan, why is it that fellowship with other people gives the sense of meaning?
 Does it come down perhaps to another sense of meaning,
 that life is felt to be meaningful when one is fully satisfying one's biological urges,
 including the sense of hunger, the sense of love, the sense of self-expression in activity, and so on.
 But then again we have to push that inquiry further.
 What do our biological urges really point towards?
 Are they just, however, things always projected towards a future?
 Is biology and its processes nothing but going on towards going on towards going on?
 Or there's a fourth and more theological sense of the meaning of life.
 In all theistic religions at any rate, the meaning of life is God himself.
 In other words, all this world means a person.
 It means a heart, it means an intelligence,
 and the relationship of love between God and man is the meaning of the world.
 The sight of God is the glory of God, and so on.
 But again here there's something to be further pursued.
 What is it that we want in love with a person, and even a person in the sense of the Lord God?
 What is the content of it? What is it that we are really yearning after?
 Well now, if we go back to the first point,
 taking Goethe's words that all that is transitory is but a symbol,
 and that we want to feel that all things have significance,
 it does seem to me that there's a sense in which we often use the word significance,
 where the word seems to be chosen quite naturally, and yet at the same time it's not quite the right word.
 We say, for example, often of music, that we feel it to be significant,
 when just at the same time we don't mean that it expresses some particular kind of concretely realizable emotion,
 and certainly it's not imitating the noises of nature.
 A program music, you know, which simply imitates something else,
 and it deliberately sets out to express sadness or joy or whatever, is not the kind of thing I mean.
 So often when one listens to the beautiful arabesque character of the Baroque composers, Bach or Vivaldi,
 it is felt to be significant, not because it means something other than itself,
 but because it is so satisfying as it is.
 And we use then this word significance.
 So often, in those moments when our impetuous seeking for fulfillment cools down,
 and we give ourselves a little space to watch things as if they were worth watching, ordinary things,
 and in those moments when our inner turmoil has really quietened,
 we find significance in things that we wouldn't expect to find significant at all.
 I mean, this is after all the art of those photographers,
 who have such genius in turning the camera towards such things as peeling paint on an old door,
 or mud and sand and stones on a dirt road,
 and showing us there that if we look at it in a certain way, those things are significant.
 But we can't say significant of what so much as significant of themselves.
 Or perhaps significance then is the quality of a state of mind,
 in which we notice that we're overlooking the significance of the world by our constant quest for it later.
 All this language is of course quite naturally vague and imprecise, because I think the wrong word is used.
 And yet not entirely the wrong word, because as I said, it comes so naturally to us.
 It was Clive Bell, the great aesthetician, who wanted to say that all the characteristic of art,
 especially the characteristic of aesthetic success in painting, was the creation of significant form.
 Again, a very vague, imprecise expression.
 But it certainly is an attribute, not only of those moments in which we are tranquil inside,
 but also of moments of deep spiritual experience, of what would be called moksha,
 or release in Hinduism, or satori in Zen.
 That in those moments, the significance of the world seems to be the world, seems to be what is going on now.
 And we don't look any further. The scheme of things seems to justify itself at every moment of its unfoldment.
 I pointed out that this was particularly a characteristic of music. It's also a characteristic of dancing.
 And in the sensation of belonging with one's fellow men, in the carrying out of some significant pattern of life,
 which I mentioned as a second sense of the world being meaningful,
 again, the character of this feeling is, again, something that is fulfilled in itself.
 To dance is not to be going anywhere.
 When we dance in the ballroom, we don't have a destination, we're just going round the room.
 And it's in doing this, it's in executing the pattern, in singing the music with other people,
 that even though this doesn't point to anything outside itself, we again get the sense of meaning.
 And this is also obviously the case so often in the satisfaction of the biological urges.
 Does one live to eat or eat to live?
 I'm not at all sure about this. I'm sure I very often live to eat,
 because sitting around a table with people, I don't like eating alone,
 and enjoying food is absolutely delightful.
 And we're not thinking when we do this, at least certainly I'm not, that we have to eat because it's good for us,
 and that we've got to throw something down the hatch, as Henry Miller said, and swallow a dozen vitamins,
 just because our system needs nourishment.
 I remember quite recently there was an article in the Consumer Reports about bread,
 and there had been some correspondence and protests saying that the bread one bought,
 white bread one buys in the stores, is perfectly inedible and lacking in nutrition,
 and that it was much better to eat peasant-type breads, rough, pumpernickel and things of that kind,
 and the experts replied that our white bread is perfectly full of good nutrients,
 and there's nothing really the matter with it at all.
 Well, I felt like saying, it isn't a matter perhaps of the bread being deficient in the essential vitamins.
 Bread isn't medicine, it's food, and one's complaint against it is that it's bad cookery.
 It tastes of nothing, and we do tend, don't we, to look upon food so often for what it will do for us,
 rather than the delight of eating it.
 But if the satisfaction of biological urges is to mean anything,
 surely the point of these urges is not the fatuous one of mere survival,
 of, we might say, the point of the individual is simply that he contributes to the welfare of the race,
 and the point of the race is that it reproduces itself to reproduce itself to reproduce itself and keep going.
 Now, that isn't really a point at all. That's just fatuous.
 Surely the race keeps going because going is great, because it's fun,
 and if it isn't, and never will be, then there's no point, obviously, in going.
 I mean, looking at it from the most hedonistic standpoint.
 But then when we come to the question, what is fun, what is the joy of it?
 Again we come down to something that can't very well be explained in the ordinary language of meaning,
 of leading to something else.
 And this, I think, becomes pre-eminently true if we think of it in theological language,
 that the meaning of life is God.
 In any of the theistic religions, what is God doing?
 What is the meaning of God?
 Why does he create the universe?
 What is the content of the love of God for his creation?
 Well, there's the frank answer of the Hindus,
 that the Godhead manifests the world because of Leela, which is the Sanskrit word for play.
 And this is likewise said in the Hebrew scriptures, or the Christian Old Testament,
 in the book of Proverbs, where there is a marvellous speech by the divine wisdom, Sophia,
 which in describing the function of the divine wisdom in the creation of the world,
 the world, in other words, as a manifestation of the wisdom of God,
 wisdom uses the phrase that in producing men and animals and all the creatures of the earth,
 wisdom is playing, and it was the delight of wisdom to play before the presence of God.
 And when it is likewise said in the scriptures that the Lord God created the world for his pleasure,
 this again means, in a sense, for play.
 And certainly this seems to be what the angels in heaven are doing,
 according to the traditional symbolic descriptions of heaven.
 They are ringed around the presence of the Almighty,
 calling out "Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah" through all eternity.
 Well, "Hallelujah" may have meant something originally,
 but as it's used now, it doesn't mean anything except, well, in our own slang, "Whoopee!"
 It's an exclamation of nonsensical delight.
 And it was Dante in the Paradiso who described the song of the angels as the laughter of the universe.
 And this sense of nonsense as the theme of the divine activity comes out also very strongly in the book of Job.
 I always think that the book of Job is the most profound book in the whole Bible,
 Old Testament and New Testament,
 because here is the problem of the righteous man who has suffered,
 and all his friends try to rationalize it and say, "Well, you must have suffered because
 you really had a secret sin after all and deserve the punishment of God, or because..."
 Rationalize it somehow.
 And when they've had their say, the Lord God appears on the scene
 and says, "Who is this that darkeneth counsel with words without knowledge?"
 And then proceeds to ask Job and his friends a series of absolutely unanswerable conundrums,
 pointing out all the apparent irrationality and nonsense of his creation.
 Why, for example, he said, "Do I send rain upon the desert where no man is?"
 Most commentators on the book of Job end with the remark that, well,
 this poses the problem of suffering and the problem of evil, but doesn't really answer it.
 And yet in the end himself, Job seems to be satisfied.
 He somehow surrenders to the apparent unreasonableness of the Lord God.
 And this is not, I think, because Job is beaten down and that he's unduly impressed with the
 royal, monarchical, and paternalistic authority of the deity and doesn't dare to answer back.
 He realizes that somehow these very questions are the answer.
 I think of all the commentators on the book of Job, the person who came closest to this point was old G.K. Chesterton.
 He once made the glorious remark that it is one thing to look with amazement at a gorgon or a griffin,
 a creature who doesn't exist, but quite another thing to look at a hippopotamus,
 a creature who does exist and looks as if he doesn't.
 In other words, that all this strange world, with its weird forms like hippopotami,
 and when you look at them from a certain point of view, stones and trees and water and clouds and stars,
 when you look at them from a certain point of view and don't take them for granted,
 they are as weird as any hippopotamus or any imagination of fabulous beasts of gorgons and griffins and things like that.
 They are just plain improbable.
 And it is in this sense, I think, that they are the Alleluia, as it were, the nonsense song.
 Why do we love nonsense?
 Why do we love Lewis Carroll with his 'Twas brillig and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wave,
 All mimsy were the borrow-groves And the mum-raths outgrabe?
 Why is it that all those old English songs are full of 'Falderiddle Ido' and 'Hey Nonny Nonny'
 and all those dabbling choruses?
 Why is it that when we get hep with jazz, we just go 'Boody, booty, boopty, boo' and so on and enjoy ourselves swinging it?
 It is this participation in the essential glorious nonsense that is at the heart of the world,
 that isn't going anywhere, that is a dance.
 But it seems that only in moments of unusual insight and illumination that we get the point of this
 and find that thus the true meaning of life is no meaning,
 that its purpose is no purpose and that its sense is nonsense.
 But still we want to use about it the word 'significant'.
 Significant nonsense? Yes, nonsense that is not just chaos, that is not just blathering balderdash,
 but that has in it rhythm, fascinating complexity, a kind of artistry.
 It is in this kind of meaninglessness that we get the profoundest meaning.
 You've been listening to a talk by Alan Watts.
 To continue listening to this program, please turn the tape over.
 [Music]
 It's really a very unorthodox and unacademic thing to do,
 to start a discussion with a group of psychologists on the subject of metaphysics,
 but we have to do that.
 Because a lot of people say that their approach to life is scientific,
 as distinct from metaphysical, and that metaphysics is Bosch, anyway.
 But everybody, by virtue of being a human being, is willy-nilly a metaphysician.
 That is to say, everybody starts from certain fundamental assumptions
 as to what is the good life, what he wants, what are his, shall we say, axioms for living.
 And I find that psychologists tend to be blind to these fundamental assumptions.
 Maybe it's truer of psychiatrists than it is of psychologists,
 but they tend to feel that they are scientists.
 They're rather bending over backwards to have a scientific status,
 because that, of course, is fashionable in our age.
 But you know, it's so amusing that when, say, let's take psychoanalysis, for example,
 has pointed out to many philosophers that their philosophical ideas
 are capable of being shown to have a psychoanalytic reference.
 For example, John Wisdom wrote a book about the philosophy of Berkeley
 in which he attributed a great deal of his point of view
 to his experiences in toilet training as a child.
 The philosopher is very grateful to the psychoanalyst
 for revealing to him his unconscious and its emotional contents.
 But the psychoanalyst must in turn await a revelation from the philosopher
 as to his philosophical unconscious and the unexamined assumptions which lie in it.
 So, if I may start by insulting your intelligence
 with what is called the most elementary lesson.
 Something that we should have learned before we learned 1, 2, 3 and ABC,
 but somehow was overlooked.
 Now, this lesson is quite simply this,
 that any experience that we have through our senses,
 whether of sound or of light or of touch, is a vibration.
 And a vibration has two aspects, one called on and the other called off.
 Vibration seems to be propagated in waves,
 and every wave system has crests and it has troughs.
 And so life is a system of now you see it, now you don't.
 And these two aspects always go together.
 For example, sound is not pure sound,
 it is a rapid alternation of sound and silence.
 And that's simply the way things are.
 Only you must remember that the crest and the trough of a wave are inseparable.
 Nobody ever saw crests without troughs or troughs without crests,
 just as you don't encounter in life people with fronts but no backs.
 Just as you don't encounter a coin that has heads but no tails.
 And although the heads and the tails, the fronts and the backs,
 the positives and the negatives are different,
 they're at the same time one.
 And one has to get used fundamentally to the notion
 that different things can be inseparable.
 That what is explicitly two can at the same time be implicitly one.
 If you forget that, very funny things happen.
 If therefore we forget, you see, that black and white are inseparable,
 and that existence is constituted equivalently by being and non-being,
 then we get scared.
 And we have to play a game called, "Uh-oh, black might win."
 And once we get into the fear that black, the negative side, might win,
 we are compelled to play the game, "But white must win."
 And from that start all our troubles.
 Because, you see, the human awareness has a very odd mechanism.
 I don't think mechanism is quite the right word, but it'll do for the moment.
 That is to say, we have as a species specialized in a certain kind of awareness,
 which we call conscious attention.
 And by this we have the faculty of examining the details of life very closely.
 We can restrict our gaze, and it corresponds somewhat to the peripheral field,
 I mean the central field of vision in the eyes.
 We have central vision, we have peripheral vision.
 Central vision is that which we use for reading, for all sorts of close work,
 and it's like using a spotlight.
 Whereas peripheral vision is more like using a floodlight.
 Our civilization and civilized human beings for maybe 5,000 years, maybe much longer,
 have learned to specialize in concentrated attention.
 Even if a person's attention span is short, he is, as it were,
 wavering his spotlight over many fields.
 The price which we pay for specialization in conscious attention
 is ignorance of everything outside its field.
 I would rather say ignorance than ignorance,
 because if you concentrate on a figure, you tend to ignore the background.
 You tend, therefore, to see the world in a disintegrated aspect.
 You take separate things and events seriously,
 imagining that these really do exist,
 when actually they have the same kind of existence
 as an individual's interpretation of a Rorschach plot.
 They're what you make out of it.
 In fact, our physical world is a system of inseparable differences.
 Everything exists with everything else.
 But we contrive not to notice that,
 because what we notice is what is noteworthy.
 And we notice it in terms of notations.
 Numbers, words, images.
 What is notable, noteworthy, notated, noticed,
 is what appears to us to be significant,
 and the rest is ignored as insignificant.
 And as a result of that, we select from the total input
 that goes to our senses only a very small fraction.
 And this causes us to believe that we are separate beings,
 isolated by the boundary of the epidermis from the rest of the world.
 And you see, this is also the mechanism involved
 in not noticing that black and white go together.
 Not noticing that every inside has an outside,
 and that the inside, what goes on inside your skin,
 is inseparable from what goes on outside your skin.
 Do you see that, for example, in the science of ecology,
 one learns that a human being is not an organism in an environment,
 but is an organism-environment.
 That is to say, a unified field of behavior.
 If you describe carefully the behavior of any organism,
 you cannot do so without at the same time
 describing the behavior of the environment.
 And by that you know that you've got a new entity of study.
 You are describing the behavior of a unified field.
 But you must be very careful indeed not to fall into old Newtonian assumptions
 about the billiard ball nature of the universe.
 The organism is not the puppet of the environment,
 being pushed around by it.
 Nor, on the other hand, is the environment the puppet of the organism,
 being pushed around by the organism.
 The relationship between them is, to use John Dewey's word, transactional.
 The transaction being a situation like buying and selling,
 in which there is no buying unless somebody sells,
 and no selling unless somebody buys.
 So that fundamental relationship between ourselves and the world,
 which is in an old-fashioned way by people such as Skinner,
 who have not updated his philosophy,
 interpreted in terms of Newtonian mechanics.
 He interprets the organism as something determined by the total environment.
 And he doesn't see that in a more modern way of talking about it,
 we're simply describing a unified field of behavior,
 which is nothing more than what any mystic ever said.
 That's a dirty word in the modern academic scientific environment.
 But if a mystic is one who is sensibly or even sensuously aware
 of his inseparability as an individual from the total existing universe,
 he is simply a person who has become sensible,
 aware through his senses, of the way ecologists see the world.
 So when I'm in academic circles, I don't talk about mystical experience,
 I talk about ecological awareness. Same thing.
 And so the next aspect of our metaphysical introduction must be about games.
 You know, I think there are really four questions that all philosophers have discussed
 from the beginning of recorded time.
 First is, who started it?
 The second is, are we going to make it?
 The third is, where are we going to put it?
 And the fourth is, who's going to clean up?
 When you think these over, it poses a fifth question.
 Is it serious?
 And that's the one I want to discuss.
 Is existence serious?
 Like you say to a doctor, after he's looked at your X-ray picture,
 "Is it serious?" What does that mean?
 It means, am I in danger of not continuing to survive?
 But the basis of it all is this, then.
 If we say, "You must survive," or "I must survive,"
 "Life is earnest, and I've got to go on,"
 then your life is a drag and not a game.
 Now, it's my contention, my personal opinion, this is my basic metaphysical axiom,
 shall we put it that way, that existence, the physical universe, is basically playful.
 There is no necessity for it whatsoever.
 It isn't going anywhere.
 That is to say, it doesn't have some destination that it ought to arrive at.
 But it is best understood by analogy with music.
 Because music, as an art form, is essentially playful.
 We say, "You play the piano." "You don't work the piano."
 Why? Music differs from, say, travel.
 When you travel, you are trying to get somewhere.
 And of course, we, because being a very compulsive and purposive culture,
 are busy getting everywhere faster and faster and faster,
 till we eliminate the distance between places.
 I mean, with the modern jet travel, you can arrive almost instantaneously.
 And what happens as a result of that is that the two ends of your journey become the same place.
 So you eliminate the distance, and you eliminate the journey.
 Because the fun of the journey is to travel, not to obliterate travel.
 So then, in music, though, one doesn't make the end of a composition the point of the composition.
 If that were so, the best conductors would be those who played fastest.
 And there would be composers who wrote only finales.
 People go to a concert just to hear one crashing chord, because that's the end.
 Same way in dancing. You don't aim at a particular spot in the room.
 That's where you should arrive. The whole point of the dancing is the dance.
 Now, but we don't see that as something brought by our education into our everyday conduct.
 We've got a system of schooling which gives a completely different impression.
 It's all graded. And what we do is we put the child into the corridor of this grade system
 with a kind of "Come on, kitty, kitty, kitty!" And, yeah, you go to kindergarten, you know.
 And that's a great thing, because when you finish that, you'll get into first grade.
 And then, come on, first grade leads to second grade, and so on, and then you get out of grade school,
 and you've got high school, and it's revving up, the thing is coming.
 Then you're going to go to college, and by Jove, then you get into graduate school,
 and when you're through with graduate school, you go out to join the world.
 And then you get into some racket where you're selling insurance.
 And they've got that quota to make. And you're going to make that.
 And all the time, the thing is coming. It's coming, it's coming, that great thing, the success you're working for.
 Then when you wake up one day about 40 years old, you say, "My God, I've arrived! I'm there!"
 And you don't feel very different from what you always felt.
 And there's a slight letdown, because you feel there's a hoax.
 And there was a hoax, a dreadful hoax. They made you miss everything by expectation.
 Look at the people who live to retire, and put those savings away.
 And then when they're 65, they don't have any energy left, they're more or less impotent,
 and they go and rot in an old people's senior citizens' community.
 Because we simply cheated ourselves the whole way down the line.
 We thought of life by analogy with a journey, with a pilgrimage,
 which had a serious purpose at the end, and the thing was to get to that end.
 Success, or whatever it is, or maybe heaven after you're dead.
 But we missed the point the whole way along.
 It was a musical thing, and you were supposed to sing, or to dance, while the music was being played.
 But you had to do that thing. You didn't let it happen.
 And so, in this way, the human being sometimes becomes an organism for self-frustration.
 Let's take Kaczybski called man a time binder.
 That means that he's the animal peculiarly aware of the time sequence,
 and as a result of this is able to do some very remarkable things.
 He can predict. He studies what's happened in the past,
 and he says the chances are so and so of that happening again, and so he predicts.
 It's very useful to be able to predict, because that has survival value.
 But at the same time, it creates anxiety.
 You pay for this increased survival ability involved in prediction
 by knowing that in the end you won't succeed. You're all going to fall apart by one way or another.
 It might happen tomorrow. It might happen 50 years from now.
 But it all comes apart in the end, and people get worried about that. They get anxious.
 So what they gained on the roundabout, they lost on the swings.
 So then, if you see on the other hand that existence,
 this is as I said my basic metaphysical assumption which I won't conceal from you,
 that existence is musical in nature, that is to say that it is not serious.
 It is a play of all kinds of patterns.
 We can look upon different creatures as we look at different games,
 as we look at chess, checkers, backgammon, tennis, the tree game, the beetle game, the grass game.
 Or you can look at them as you look at different styles of music, mazurkas, waltzes, sonata, etc., etc., all down the line.
 all these different things doing their stuff. And they're going to do-to-do-to-do, to do-to-do,
 to who-di-do-di-do, you know, in different rhythms. And we're doing that. If you were
 in a flying saucer from Mars or somewhere, and you came and looked, try and make out
 what was living on this world, from about 10,000 feet at night, or early morning, you
 would see these great ganglia, with tentacles going out all over the place. And early in
 the morning, you see little blobs of luminous particles going into the middle of them. See?
 And then, in the late afternoon or early evening, it would spit them all out again. And they
 say, "Well, this thing, this thing breathes." And it does it in a special rhythm. It goes
 in and out, in and out, in and out, once every 24 hours. But then it rests a day and doesn't
 spit so much. It just spits in a different way. That's a kind of irregularity. And then
 it starts spitting all over again the same way. Well, you see, that's very interesting.
 That's the kind of thing we have. See? This is something that goes this way, you see? Just
 like music goes, "Mmm, bup bup, mmm, bup bup, mmm, bup bup, mmm, bup bup." Did you ever
 see a lady go this way, go that way? That's what it does. And when people, when you think
 a bit what people really want to do with their time, what do they do when they're not being
 pushed around and somebody's telling them what to do? They like to go, they like to
 make rhythms. They listen to music, they dance, or they sing, or they do something of a rhythmic
 nature, playing cards or bowling or raising their elbows. Everybody wants to spend their
 time swinging. That's the nature of this whole thing we're in, you see? It likes to swing.
 That's why it does it.
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