In "Map of the New World," Walcott describes a boat traveling through archipelagoes of the New World. He references the Odyssey, conveying a legacy of colonization and war.
Walcott makes a parallel between the sailboat in the Americas and Odysseus. After "the sail will lose sight of the islands," Walcott bridges the gap between the subjects he compares: "The ten-years war is finished." This ambiguous claim refers to the sail, but also to the next subject - he describes the damage of the Trojan War from which Odysseus flees. The notion of irreversible destruction applies to both that from which the sail returns and the Trojan War.
Walcott writes with more specificity about the Trojan War than the sail of the first half of the poem - much is left to inference. By equating the sail with Odysseus in his journey home, however, Walcott suggests the harm done to the New World is comparable to the destruction of Troy.
This analogy serves much more than to fill in the ambiguities of "Map of the New World." In the last stanza, Walcott describes a man who "plucks the first line of the Odyssey." After the damage described earlier in the poem, the (presumably Western) man continues to read this epic poem, considered one of the finest works of Western literature. The epic is so ingrained into Western culture, that its subject matter of colonization and war is as well. The literature the West values may not have a direct correlation with its imperialistic tendencies. Nevertheless, just as the Odyssey has been embraced by the West for centuries, so has its pattern of invasion and subjugation of other cultures.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Sunday, April 15, 2012
The Significance of Raskolnikov's Encounter with the Tradesman (Response to Question 12)
Toward the ending of Part 3 of Crime and Punishment, Raskolnikov encounters a stranger who claims to know him to be guilty of the crime of the murder of his landlord. Raskolnikov is confused - he asks the tradesman several of the many questions he has to ask: "But why do you ... come asking ... and say nothing ... what does it mean?" (272). Raskolnikov does not know where to begin, and feels threatened by this man. He makes another attempt: ""What do you .... what ... who is a murderer?" (272). Raskolnikov is so struck by the few words the tradesman does say that his reaction is both mental and physical. Upon being called a murderer, "his legs suddenly became terribly weak, a chill ran down his spine, and it was as if his heart stood still for a moment; then all at once it began pounding as if it had jumped off the hook" (272). As the tradesman walks away, Raskolnikov's face goes "pale," hi eyes "deadened," and stands "motionlessly" (272).
Raskolnikov's reaction demonstrates not only a guilty conscience, but disdain for his crime. Though the tradesman clearly knows Raskolnikov is a criminal, he does not reveal how he knows this, how he can prove this, or even if he intends to do either. The tradesman is only threatening in his ability to make Raskolnikov admit and suffer for his crime. The description of his legs becoming "weak" and of his heart "standing still" connote not physical pain, but death. The vocabulary Dostoesvsky employs - "pale," "deadened" and "motionlessly" - further portrays Raskolnikov as though he were dying. The words of the tradesman cause Raskolnikov to disintegrate, as it were, just like the murdered woman has. Raskolnikov feels such tremendous guilt over his crime that he seems to have a propensity to suffer the same consequences his victim did.
Raskolnikov's reaction demonstrates not only a guilty conscience, but disdain for his crime. Though the tradesman clearly knows Raskolnikov is a criminal, he does not reveal how he knows this, how he can prove this, or even if he intends to do either. The tradesman is only threatening in his ability to make Raskolnikov admit and suffer for his crime. The description of his legs becoming "weak" and of his heart "standing still" connote not physical pain, but death. The vocabulary Dostoesvsky employs - "pale," "deadened" and "motionlessly" - further portrays Raskolnikov as though he were dying. The words of the tradesman cause Raskolnikov to disintegrate, as it were, just like the murdered woman has. Raskolnikov feels such tremendous guilt over his crime that he seems to have a propensity to suffer the same consequences his victim did.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Humor in Free Indirect Discourse in Austen's Pride and Prejudice
In Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen utilizes free indirect discourse in many ways. She communicates to the reader what the characters do not express and gives explanation of plot and setting where required.
Austen makes use of free indirect discourse for another, less functional, purpose - to humor the reader. For instance, when characters convene for breakfast in Chapter VIII, she makes a risible contrast between two men: "(Mr. Darcy) was divided between admiration of the brilliancy which exercise had given to her complexion, and doubt as to the occasion's justifying her coming so far alone. (Mr. Hurst) was thinking only of his breakfast" (24). Preceded by the description of Mr. Darcy's inquisitiveness, the description of Mr. Hurst's simplicity exaggerates this quality. Following the complex, multiclaused sentence pertaining to Mr. Darcy with a short one referring to Mr. Hurst accentuates the contrast Austen chooses to demonstrate.
Austen achieves the same effect in informing the reader of the characters' activities as Jane remains ill: "Elizabeth did not quit her room for a moment, nor were the other ladies often absent; the gentlemen being out, they had in fact nothing to do elsewhere" (24). Explaining the gentlemen's absence with a commitment to do nothing is humorous in itself. Placing this after a description of the women's attentiveness and activity makes a contrast makes the men look even sillier.
These two instances are humorous, but at the same time, they are cutting: Austen clearly holds little regard for Mr. Hurst, and she disapproves of the men's waisting time with no worries as others make themselves useful, out of genuine concern. Austen's humorous writing may entertain the reader, but it also provides an outlet for her cynicism and criticism. It is these risible moments when Austen makes her stance most clear, barely veiling it with a laugh.
Austen makes use of free indirect discourse for another, less functional, purpose - to humor the reader. For instance, when characters convene for breakfast in Chapter VIII, she makes a risible contrast between two men: "(Mr. Darcy) was divided between admiration of the brilliancy which exercise had given to her complexion, and doubt as to the occasion's justifying her coming so far alone. (Mr. Hurst) was thinking only of his breakfast" (24). Preceded by the description of Mr. Darcy's inquisitiveness, the description of Mr. Hurst's simplicity exaggerates this quality. Following the complex, multiclaused sentence pertaining to Mr. Darcy with a short one referring to Mr. Hurst accentuates the contrast Austen chooses to demonstrate.
Austen achieves the same effect in informing the reader of the characters' activities as Jane remains ill: "Elizabeth did not quit her room for a moment, nor were the other ladies often absent; the gentlemen being out, they had in fact nothing to do elsewhere" (24). Explaining the gentlemen's absence with a commitment to do nothing is humorous in itself. Placing this after a description of the women's attentiveness and activity makes a contrast makes the men look even sillier.
These two instances are humorous, but at the same time, they are cutting: Austen clearly holds little regard for Mr. Hurst, and she disapproves of the men's waisting time with no worries as others make themselves useful, out of genuine concern. Austen's humorous writing may entertain the reader, but it also provides an outlet for her cynicism and criticism. It is these risible moments when Austen makes her stance most clear, barely veiling it with a laugh.
Monday, April 2, 2012
Margaret's Judgments in Faust
In Faust, there exist multiple judgments regarding Margaret's crime. Her family and town scorn her for losing her virginity before marriage, condemning her to a dismal life. In deeming her actions as sins, Margaret herself holds the same beliefs of those of her family and town. There might be various judgments, however, among the audience. Margaret has sinned, but her wrongs may be considered collateral damage from Faust's commitment to greed and lust, inspired by Mephistopheles. Dramatic irony serves to divide (perhaps some of) the audiences' beliefs from those of the characters, unaware of Faust's loyalty to the Devil and thereby, the exceptional nature of the offense.
In "Night," Valentine provides a view of Margaret similar to that of the other characters (with the exception of Martha) in the play, but more substantiated. Valentine suggests that Margaret's behavior is not only immoral, but superficially Christian. He tells her: "You shall no longer wear your golden chain, / nor pray to God before the altar, / nor seek your pleasures at a dance / decked out in lace and finery" (341). The "golden chain" may refer to one with a crucifix that she wears; if this is the case, Valentine hints at the many flaws in such a necklace. Not only does a golden chain crudely display of wealth, but it passively accessorizes and luxuriates the painful event of Christ's death. By following the prediction that Margaret will be unable to pray with the loss of the privilege to dress well and enjoy social occasions, in the same sentence, Valentine reveals a possible equation of religious activity with frivolity. Whether or not Valentine's perspective was perceived by the audience as harsh or right, it has a reasonable basis. Valentine provides a fresh and rational view on Margaret's allegedly innocent behavior, thus narrowing the gap between the views of the characters, whom he represents, and those of an audience which, as (then) Christian, values humility and sincerity.
In "Night," Valentine provides a view of Margaret similar to that of the other characters (with the exception of Martha) in the play, but more substantiated. Valentine suggests that Margaret's behavior is not only immoral, but superficially Christian. He tells her: "You shall no longer wear your golden chain, / nor pray to God before the altar, / nor seek your pleasures at a dance / decked out in lace and finery" (341). The "golden chain" may refer to one with a crucifix that she wears; if this is the case, Valentine hints at the many flaws in such a necklace. Not only does a golden chain crudely display of wealth, but it passively accessorizes and luxuriates the painful event of Christ's death. By following the prediction that Margaret will be unable to pray with the loss of the privilege to dress well and enjoy social occasions, in the same sentence, Valentine reveals a possible equation of religious activity with frivolity. Whether or not Valentine's perspective was perceived by the audience as harsh or right, it has a reasonable basis. Valentine provides a fresh and rational view on Margaret's allegedly innocent behavior, thus narrowing the gap between the views of the characters, whom he represents, and those of an audience which, as (then) Christian, values humility and sincerity.
Monday, March 19, 2012
Layers of Reality in Don Quixote (Response to Part 2 Study Question 6)
Cervantes' Don Quixote is at once one and multiple texts. Cervantes tells the stories of Don Quixote, who has gone mad obsessing over chivalric texts. Cervantes mocks these texts through a parody of chivalry, mocking the heroic characters and deeds that constitute such low-brow literature.
Just as Cervantes mimics chivalry in Don Quixote, the protagonist does so as well. Cervantes goes through the motions of chivalry cynically, while Don Quixote, however, does so gullibly. At once, we have two commentaries on chivalry (so far) - that it misleads, but that it proves glory.
In Chapters II and III of Part II of Don Quixote, Cervantes adds another layer of textuality. Don Quixote and Sancho Panza learn that a moor named Cide Hamete Berenjena has written an account of their deeds. Don Quixote attributes the fact that this book has been made so soon after his accomplishments that "the blood of the enemies he had slain was not yet dry on the blade of his sword" to magic, denying unremarkable reality as he has done throughout the book (473). He proceeds to refuse reality by doubting Sancho Panza's mention in the moor's book: he reassures himself that "the acts of squires were never written down" (474). Don Quixote also dismisses the possibility that the moor has "annihilate(d) (his chivalric exploits) and place(d) them lower than the basest acts ever attributed to the basest squire" (473).
Making assumptions about the book Cide Hamete Berenjena has written without even reading it, Don Quixote creates, as it were, his own text. Each time Don Quixote considers an unpleasant truth - that such a book does not exist, that it mentions Sancho Panza, and that it indicts his deeds - he immediately reassures himself, conjuring up a text which he approves. Thus we have two potentially contradictory texts about Don Quixote, within a text that mocks a certain genre of text.
These layers of reality are a formal way in which Cervantes expresses the notion of subjective reality. Cervantes begins Don Quixote in the prologue warning the reader of inevitable flaws in the following stories, thereby demonstrating his outlook on his own work as biased. At the same time, Cervantes mocks chivalric texts, deeming them unrealistic and silly. In Part II, Cervantes has Don Quixote produce a text about himself to his own liking, when it may very well be different. Cervantes does make a general argument against chivalric literature, but also makes the reader aware of his bias. At the same time, Don Quixote creates a reality that does not match that of any other character. Even though Cervantes portrays Don Quixote as foolish, he also emphasizes that reality is subjective. The book about Don Quixote is at once as he sees it and others see it, and Don Quixote is only as Cervantes portrays him. Finally, Don Quixote is only as the reader interprets it. Don Quixote may seem to make contrasts between truth and fiction with the "chivalric exploits" of its protagonist, but it rather blurs any contrast with its many layers of reality.
Just as Cervantes mimics chivalry in Don Quixote, the protagonist does so as well. Cervantes goes through the motions of chivalry cynically, while Don Quixote, however, does so gullibly. At once, we have two commentaries on chivalry (so far) - that it misleads, but that it proves glory.
In Chapters II and III of Part II of Don Quixote, Cervantes adds another layer of textuality. Don Quixote and Sancho Panza learn that a moor named Cide Hamete Berenjena has written an account of their deeds. Don Quixote attributes the fact that this book has been made so soon after his accomplishments that "the blood of the enemies he had slain was not yet dry on the blade of his sword" to magic, denying unremarkable reality as he has done throughout the book (473). He proceeds to refuse reality by doubting Sancho Panza's mention in the moor's book: he reassures himself that "the acts of squires were never written down" (474). Don Quixote also dismisses the possibility that the moor has "annihilate(d) (his chivalric exploits) and place(d) them lower than the basest acts ever attributed to the basest squire" (473).
Making assumptions about the book Cide Hamete Berenjena has written without even reading it, Don Quixote creates, as it were, his own text. Each time Don Quixote considers an unpleasant truth - that such a book does not exist, that it mentions Sancho Panza, and that it indicts his deeds - he immediately reassures himself, conjuring up a text which he approves. Thus we have two potentially contradictory texts about Don Quixote, within a text that mocks a certain genre of text.
These layers of reality are a formal way in which Cervantes expresses the notion of subjective reality. Cervantes begins Don Quixote in the prologue warning the reader of inevitable flaws in the following stories, thereby demonstrating his outlook on his own work as biased. At the same time, Cervantes mocks chivalric texts, deeming them unrealistic and silly. In Part II, Cervantes has Don Quixote produce a text about himself to his own liking, when it may very well be different. Cervantes does make a general argument against chivalric literature, but also makes the reader aware of his bias. At the same time, Don Quixote creates a reality that does not match that of any other character. Even though Cervantes portrays Don Quixote as foolish, he also emphasizes that reality is subjective. The book about Don Quixote is at once as he sees it and others see it, and Don Quixote is only as Cervantes portrays him. Finally, Don Quixote is only as the reader interprets it. Don Quixote may seem to make contrasts between truth and fiction with the "chivalric exploits" of its protagonist, but it rather blurs any contrast with its many layers of reality.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Father-Daughter Relationships and Insecurity (Response to Question 3)
Shakespeare's decision to have Lear have three daughters, rather than sons, is functional for the plot of King Lear. Whereas the daughters of a king traditionally inherited equal portions of their father's estate, the eldest son inherits it in its entirety. Thus Shakespeare determines equal statuses for the daughters, as opposed to the hierarchical relationship of brothers.
Lear, however, violates the rules of inheritance in several ways. Not only does Lear resign from the role of king prematurely, but also he has failed to provide an heir to take his place. Lear makes an effort as well to install a sort of hierarchy between his daughters that echoes that between sons. He loves Cordelia more than Goneril and Regan and makes this grading clear when he formally passes down his estate to them in Act I Scene I. Lear has each daughter make a speech to demonstrate their love for their father, effectively putting them in competition to move him. Lear asks Goneril and Regan to speak first, as he expects Cordelia to make the best speech; this choice makes favoritism evident. Lear makes his expectation of a better speech: "The vines of France and milk of Burgundy / Strive to be interessed, what can you say to draw / A third more opulent than your sisters?" (6).
Striving to install hierarchy where it need not exist points to Lear's insecurity. Lear is so uncertain of his daughters' love for him, that he utilizes the occasion of passing down his wealth in order to have them prove their feelings through speech. Moreover, Lear's effort to rank his daughters highlights his mistakes as king. Lear strives to establish the sort of sibling rivalry among his daughters that would exist between brothers; he imitates the traditional pecking order in an effort to relieve his guilt for failing to provide an heir. Soon after, Lear further violates tradition and reveals the ladder on which he deems his daughters by disowning Cordelia. Lear consistently makes poor decisions as king, and then hopes to ignore his failures by imitating tradition. The formal passing down of Lear's estate itself is unnecessary according to tradition; he acts as though has a certain kingly authority by withholding his estate until due submission and flattery are expressed. Lear struggles to convince himself of his status as king.
Lear, however, violates the rules of inheritance in several ways. Not only does Lear resign from the role of king prematurely, but also he has failed to provide an heir to take his place. Lear makes an effort as well to install a sort of hierarchy between his daughters that echoes that between sons. He loves Cordelia more than Goneril and Regan and makes this grading clear when he formally passes down his estate to them in Act I Scene I. Lear has each daughter make a speech to demonstrate their love for their father, effectively putting them in competition to move him. Lear asks Goneril and Regan to speak first, as he expects Cordelia to make the best speech; this choice makes favoritism evident. Lear makes his expectation of a better speech: "The vines of France and milk of Burgundy / Strive to be interessed, what can you say to draw / A third more opulent than your sisters?" (6).
Striving to install hierarchy where it need not exist points to Lear's insecurity. Lear is so uncertain of his daughters' love for him, that he utilizes the occasion of passing down his wealth in order to have them prove their feelings through speech. Moreover, Lear's effort to rank his daughters highlights his mistakes as king. Lear strives to establish the sort of sibling rivalry among his daughters that would exist between brothers; he imitates the traditional pecking order in an effort to relieve his guilt for failing to provide an heir. Soon after, Lear further violates tradition and reveals the ladder on which he deems his daughters by disowning Cordelia. Lear consistently makes poor decisions as king, and then hopes to ignore his failures by imitating tradition. The formal passing down of Lear's estate itself is unnecessary according to tradition; he acts as though has a certain kingly authority by withholding his estate until due submission and flattery are expressed. Lear struggles to convince himself of his status as king.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Montaigne's Attitude Toward Idleness (Blog Prompt 4)
Michel de Montaigne argues that leisure can be dangerous in his essay, "On Idleness." At the same time, however, he is subject to the very "risks" he believes idleness poses, as a retired man letting his mind wander in Essays.
Montaigne essay attempts to back up the adage with which I am familiar, 'an idle mind is the Devil's playground' - the notion that the when without purpose, one is subconsciously vulnerable to deviance. The quotations Montaigne incorporates serve the same purpose the dictum above does: they all substantiate this notion by referring to traditional belief.
Montaigne even combines famous quotations with his own clauses in order to place his belief in context. For instance, he writes: "If we do not occupy (our minds) with some definite subject which curbs and restrains them, they rush wildly to and fro in the ill-defined field of the imagination..." (27). Ending his words with a comma, Montaigne then quotes Virgil to complete his sentence: "as water, trembling in a brass bowl, reflects the sun's light or the form of the shining moon, and so the bright beams flit in all directions, darting up at times to strike the lofty fretted ceilings." Using quotations to both restate and as here, elaborate, his fear of inactivity, Montaigne locates his argument in history and in those of well-respected thinkers.
Montaigne does not admit, however, that all of his essays are the product of his own idle, wandering mind. Even "On Idleness" demonstrates Montaigne's thoughts on an abstract principle, as well as the connections he has made between the beliefs of thinkers in vastly different places and times. Montaigne neither works nor applies his intellect to practical means; he instead thinks and writes.
Perhaps Montaigne is aware of the hypocrisy of his criticism of idleness - he does begin Essays with a disclaimer, as it were, that the views he puts forth are subject to his own individual "imperfection": "Had my lot been cast among those peoples who are said still to live under the kindly liberty of nature's primal laws, I should, I assure you, most gladly have painted myself complete and in all my nakedness" (23). I gather that, whether or not Montaigne is aware of the paradox "On Idleness" reveals, he knows that an idle mind is vulnerable to bad and good. Maybe Montaigne believes that only the idle minds of Virgil, Horace, Martial, Lucan, and his own are susceptible to goodness.
Montaigne essay attempts to back up the adage with which I am familiar, 'an idle mind is the Devil's playground' - the notion that the when without purpose, one is subconsciously vulnerable to deviance. The quotations Montaigne incorporates serve the same purpose the dictum above does: they all substantiate this notion by referring to traditional belief.
Montaigne even combines famous quotations with his own clauses in order to place his belief in context. For instance, he writes: "If we do not occupy (our minds) with some definite subject which curbs and restrains them, they rush wildly to and fro in the ill-defined field of the imagination..." (27). Ending his words with a comma, Montaigne then quotes Virgil to complete his sentence: "as water, trembling in a brass bowl, reflects the sun's light or the form of the shining moon, and so the bright beams flit in all directions, darting up at times to strike the lofty fretted ceilings." Using quotations to both restate and as here, elaborate, his fear of inactivity, Montaigne locates his argument in history and in those of well-respected thinkers.
Montaigne does not admit, however, that all of his essays are the product of his own idle, wandering mind. Even "On Idleness" demonstrates Montaigne's thoughts on an abstract principle, as well as the connections he has made between the beliefs of thinkers in vastly different places and times. Montaigne neither works nor applies his intellect to practical means; he instead thinks and writes.
Perhaps Montaigne is aware of the hypocrisy of his criticism of idleness - he does begin Essays with a disclaimer, as it were, that the views he puts forth are subject to his own individual "imperfection": "Had my lot been cast among those peoples who are said still to live under the kindly liberty of nature's primal laws, I should, I assure you, most gladly have painted myself complete and in all my nakedness" (23). I gather that, whether or not Montaigne is aware of the paradox "On Idleness" reveals, he knows that an idle mind is vulnerable to bad and good. Maybe Montaigne believes that only the idle minds of Virgil, Horace, Martial, Lucan, and his own are susceptible to goodness.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Augustine's Criticism of Paganism
In Book 1: Early Years of Confessions, Augustine criticizes Pagan logic found in Virgil's Aeneid. He thinks it shameful that in the Aeneid, Virgil becomes so upset over the death of his lover, Dido, when his larger problem is a lack of connection to God. Augustine writes: "What is more pitiable than a wretch without pity for himself who weeps over the death of Dido dying for love of Aeneas, but not weeping over himself dying for his lack of love for you, my God....?" (Augustine, 15). According to Augustine, Dido is a distraction from Aeneas' connection to God, and like anyone but God, unworthy of such emotion.
Aeneas' sorrow is understandable in the world of the Aeneid: humans and Gods alike are subject to emotions, irrational and rational. They love, they cheat, they punish, they fear, etc. The logic Augustine imposes on this part of the Aeneas puts his suffering into perspective and makes the matter seem trivial. But further application of this ideal seems dangerously simplistic: at what point does Augustine deem matters unimportant against our faith in God? Also, if Augustine holds Aeneas to Christian standards, can he hold every man, regardless of time and circumstance, to the same standards?
Augustine starts of his Confessions with such ideals that do not allow room for grey areas. Either one is devoted to God or distracted by 'dust.' He then proceeds to condemn theatre as another distraction for God that poses the additional threat of propagating such distraction.
Augustine so worships God because he is responsible for all good things. For instance, Augustine attributes his own positive qualities to Him: "It was your will to endow us sufficiently with the level (of memory and intelligence) appropriate of our age" (12). Augustine claims earlier, however, that God is not only responsible for good but for everything: "You are God and Lord of all you have created. In you are the constant causes of inconstant things. All mutable things have in you their immutable origins. In you all irrational and temporal things have the everlasting causes of their life" (7). This idea that God is responsible for all coheres with the belief that He has created everything, and that we are not wise enough to understand his ways, even if they seem "irrational," "inconstant," or painful (like Dido's death) to us humans. In the Old Testament, Job learns that God is responsible for his pain, but he must ignore it. Similarly, here Augustine advocates disregard for all human interpretation of occurrences, and instead their attribution to a higher plan. It is then confusing why Augustine continuously extols God's benevolence, thanking him for everything such as being "the innermost recesses of my thinking" (16), when God is at the same time the force of everything negative and "irrational." If we should forgo interpretations of life around us and simply attribute everything to God's will, how do we distinguish between right and wrong - how can we even determine what is sinful and what is not?
Augustine's God-centric ideals seem to have the ability to answer all questions with the response, "God willed it." This approach, though perhaps more simple or satisfying than the confusion of emotions and gods and goddesses and fates in Paganism, threatens basic understanding of the world around us and our own feelings.
Aeneas' sorrow is understandable in the world of the Aeneid: humans and Gods alike are subject to emotions, irrational and rational. They love, they cheat, they punish, they fear, etc. The logic Augustine imposes on this part of the Aeneas puts his suffering into perspective and makes the matter seem trivial. But further application of this ideal seems dangerously simplistic: at what point does Augustine deem matters unimportant against our faith in God? Also, if Augustine holds Aeneas to Christian standards, can he hold every man, regardless of time and circumstance, to the same standards?
Augustine starts of his Confessions with such ideals that do not allow room for grey areas. Either one is devoted to God or distracted by 'dust.' He then proceeds to condemn theatre as another distraction for God that poses the additional threat of propagating such distraction.
Augustine so worships God because he is responsible for all good things. For instance, Augustine attributes his own positive qualities to Him: "It was your will to endow us sufficiently with the level (of memory and intelligence) appropriate of our age" (12). Augustine claims earlier, however, that God is not only responsible for good but for everything: "You are God and Lord of all you have created. In you are the constant causes of inconstant things. All mutable things have in you their immutable origins. In you all irrational and temporal things have the everlasting causes of their life" (7). This idea that God is responsible for all coheres with the belief that He has created everything, and that we are not wise enough to understand his ways, even if they seem "irrational," "inconstant," or painful (like Dido's death) to us humans. In the Old Testament, Job learns that God is responsible for his pain, but he must ignore it. Similarly, here Augustine advocates disregard for all human interpretation of occurrences, and instead their attribution to a higher plan. It is then confusing why Augustine continuously extols God's benevolence, thanking him for everything such as being "the innermost recesses of my thinking" (16), when God is at the same time the force of everything negative and "irrational." If we should forgo interpretations of life around us and simply attribute everything to God's will, how do we distinguish between right and wrong - how can we even determine what is sinful and what is not?
Augustine's God-centric ideals seem to have the ability to answer all questions with the response, "God willed it." This approach, though perhaps more simple or satisfying than the confusion of emotions and gods and goddesses and fates in Paganism, threatens basic understanding of the world around us and our own feelings.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
The Problem of Suffering (Prompt 2)
"Job" deals with the problem of human suffering at its extreme. Satan tests the faith of Job by causing him to undergo heightened physical and psychological pain.
By the end of "Job," the protagonist learns to retain faith in God no matter what circumstances may prevail. Faith must be enough for human existence. Job learns this lesson; we can speculate that a similar message was to be conveyed to the Bible's readers.
For this story addresses a question we in fact do not have the answers to: why do we suffer? Also why do some live healthily? In today's world, we focus on what we consider 'concrete' - physical and psychological health, drastic events, etc. - to explain our circumstances. But a group such as the Israelites without scientific innovations as ours, one moreover without regard for science, would need a different explanation to rely on.
The idea that God causes all and that we do not have the capacity to understand Him can be seen as a reasonable explanation. It is comforting in that we attribute realities to another's responsibility. For instance, one who believes something or someone else to have caused his failure remains confident in himself. God is also a pleasing explanation in that it addresses all that humans cannot control. Amazing and terrible things happen because there is no rhyme or reason to God's actions: Job says, "He leads priests away stripped, and overthrows the mighty. He deprives of speech those who are trusted, and takes away the discernment of the elders. He pours contempt on princes, and looses the belt of the strong. He uncovers, the deeps out of darkness, and brings deep darkness to light. He makes nations great, and he destroys them: he enlarges nations, and leads them away. He takes away understanding from the chiefs of the people of the earth, and makes them wander in a pathless waste. " (Job, 12:19, 12:24). Attributing responsibility along with order (or disorder) to God allows humans to understand their limits.
By the end of "Job," the protagonist learns to retain faith in God no matter what circumstances may prevail. Faith must be enough for human existence. Job learns this lesson; we can speculate that a similar message was to be conveyed to the Bible's readers.
For this story addresses a question we in fact do not have the answers to: why do we suffer? Also why do some live healthily? In today's world, we focus on what we consider 'concrete' - physical and psychological health, drastic events, etc. - to explain our circumstances. But a group such as the Israelites without scientific innovations as ours, one moreover without regard for science, would need a different explanation to rely on.
The idea that God causes all and that we do not have the capacity to understand Him can be seen as a reasonable explanation. It is comforting in that we attribute realities to another's responsibility. For instance, one who believes something or someone else to have caused his failure remains confident in himself. God is also a pleasing explanation in that it addresses all that humans cannot control. Amazing and terrible things happen because there is no rhyme or reason to God's actions: Job says, "He leads priests away stripped, and overthrows the mighty. He deprives of speech those who are trusted, and takes away the discernment of the elders. He pours contempt on princes, and looses the belt of the strong. He uncovers, the deeps out of darkness, and brings deep darkness to light. He makes nations great, and he destroys them: he enlarges nations, and leads them away. He takes away understanding from the chiefs of the people of the earth, and makes them wander in a pathless waste. " (Job, 12:19, 12:24). Attributing responsibility along with order (or disorder) to God allows humans to understand their limits.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Job's Questionable Rewards for Faith (Prompt 8)
In "Job," the character of Job suffers for losing faith in God. Though Satan causes his pain, God establishes that if He wanted He could prolong it. For God does not owe any man any kind of blessing: He asks the rhetorical question, "Who has given to me, that I should repay Him?" (Job, 41:11). God believes that humans must be indifferent to suffering - and anything else, for that matter - because faith is all they need.
When Job finally "repent(s) in dust and ashes" for not having faith in God, however, God does reward him (42:6). "...the Lord restored the fortunes of Job" and later "blessed the latter days of Job more than his beginning; and he had fourteen thousand sheep, six thousand camels" etc. (42:10, 42:12).
If God does not owe anything to man, why does Job deserve a reward for having faith in God? Should not rewards be as meaningless as suffering, in the face of God?
These are unanswerable questions that result from a confusing, hypocritical solution. What we can investigate, however, is why the author felt the need to end Job pleasantly. He must have felt the need to sacrifice the alternative, logical ending - Job regains faith in God and either continues to suffer or does not, but that does not matter because the human experience only depends on faith - for good reason.
"Job" stresses obedience to God and indifference to all else, at the same time as it presents incentives as material as camels for obedience. For as a set of beliefs created by humans and for humans, they must appease humans. "Job" comes to finally promote faith not only with material incentives; by relieving Job's pain in the end, it also associates suffering with godlessness and health with faith. Faith alone will not suffice for the readers of the Bible; health and other rewards must be at stake as well.
When Job finally "repent(s) in dust and ashes" for not having faith in God, however, God does reward him (42:6). "...the Lord restored the fortunes of Job" and later "blessed the latter days of Job more than his beginning; and he had fourteen thousand sheep, six thousand camels" etc. (42:10, 42:12).
If God does not owe anything to man, why does Job deserve a reward for having faith in God? Should not rewards be as meaningless as suffering, in the face of God?
These are unanswerable questions that result from a confusing, hypocritical solution. What we can investigate, however, is why the author felt the need to end Job pleasantly. He must have felt the need to sacrifice the alternative, logical ending - Job regains faith in God and either continues to suffer or does not, but that does not matter because the human experience only depends on faith - for good reason.
"Job" stresses obedience to God and indifference to all else, at the same time as it presents incentives as material as camels for obedience. For as a set of beliefs created by humans and for humans, they must appease humans. "Job" comes to finally promote faith not only with material incentives; by relieving Job's pain in the end, it also associates suffering with godlessness and health with faith. Faith alone will not suffice for the readers of the Bible; health and other rewards must be at stake as well.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
God's Motives in Job (Prompts 3 and 4)
At the beginning of "Job," God sees Job as "a blameless and upright man, who fears God and turns away from evil" (Job, 2:3). Thus He sees no reason to test Job's faith, until Satan proposes to do so.
Satan warns God of Job, "touch his bone and his flesh and he will curse thee to thy face" (2:5). Satan thus sees imperfection in Job, which he can exaggerate under the circumstances of pain.
Satan's hypothesis proves later to be true, when Job rejects God for causing him to undergo so much pain. Job thereby loses faith in God as supreme, and in His actions and judgments as correct. God therefore is proved wrong by Satan. "Job" is a triumph for Satan in that he demonstrates that God's assumption is false, as well as in that he finds one of his deviant qualities in man. Satan successfully fills these two goals.
God, on the other hand, has no motive in "Job." He nevertheless gets his confidence taken away; there is a sinner in someone He highly regards. The fact that God, unlike Satan, had little curiosity in Job's faith points to God's confidence. God feels no need to defend Job for this reason, and is happy letting Satan do the 'dirty work' of trying to find in him a fault: "Behold, he is in your power; only spare his life" (2:6). The lack of a plan in "God" prepares Him for a grand criticism when error is found.
So when Job proves to defy God, it is not only an affront to His power but also His own knowledge. God has upheld someone to be faithful when he is not; He has also cockily assumed someone to be on His side when he is not. Satan's attack on God reveals faultiness in humans and faultiness in Him as well.
Satan warns God of Job, "touch his bone and his flesh and he will curse thee to thy face" (2:5). Satan thus sees imperfection in Job, which he can exaggerate under the circumstances of pain.
Satan's hypothesis proves later to be true, when Job rejects God for causing him to undergo so much pain. Job thereby loses faith in God as supreme, and in His actions and judgments as correct. God therefore is proved wrong by Satan. "Job" is a triumph for Satan in that he demonstrates that God's assumption is false, as well as in that he finds one of his deviant qualities in man. Satan successfully fills these two goals.
God, on the other hand, has no motive in "Job." He nevertheless gets his confidence taken away; there is a sinner in someone He highly regards. The fact that God, unlike Satan, had little curiosity in Job's faith points to God's confidence. God feels no need to defend Job for this reason, and is happy letting Satan do the 'dirty work' of trying to find in him a fault: "Behold, he is in your power; only spare his life" (2:6). The lack of a plan in "God" prepares Him for a grand criticism when error is found.
So when Job proves to defy God, it is not only an affront to His power but also His own knowledge. God has upheld someone to be faithful when he is not; He has also cockily assumed someone to be on His side when he is not. Satan's attack on God reveals faultiness in humans and faultiness in Him as well.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
God Creates a World of Binaries Until Man Exists
In Genesis, a world is created on many pairs of items. In each pair, one item either opposes, or is deemed "good" (1) better than the other, which lacks the same modifier. For instance, He starts with the heavens and the earth; then He creates the opposing duos of night and day, light and darkness, evening and morning. God and humans present another hierarchical pair: God is more powerful than and must be obeyed by men and women. These binaries provide structure to the world, clarity for our understanding of the origins of what we experience every day.
This binary thinking, while useful in a rough perception of nature, is challenged when applied to humans, in the Adam and Eve story. The first humans have the two options of eating from the tree of knowledge, thereby disobeying God and receiving the punishment of death, and keeping themselves from eating it, respecting God and living forever. Eve has committed the first deed and not the second. There exist the possibilities of living in or outside of the Garden of Eden, and they will be banished to the second. But this basic manner of thinking cannot apply to something so ephemeral as morals, and the author(s) must have been aware of this. For the most disobedient force was the snake; consequently it receives the worst punishment. The snake has a singular, simple, malicious motive. In Eve however, there are several sources of motivation: she believes the snake, she is hungry, and she desires the state of wisdom the snake claims the tree offers. Adam does not have the same motivations for eating from the tree of knowledge; he only has trust in his companion (2, 3). God is then forced to deviate from his binary treatment and create new categories, as his belligerent subjects represent to Him differing levels of moral turpitude. There now is God, supreme and to be obeyed, men, who disobey Him and receive adequate punishment, women, who disobey Him even more than men do and receive the same punishment plus that of childbirth, and the serpent, who commits the worst crime and receives the worst punishment.
The initial method of classifying items into two quickly loses applicability in Genesis. As soon as God or the author(s) attempt to define the origins of men and women, new levels of definition must be added. For as a text written by humans, the author(s) have a limited understanding of nature, and a far more complex one of mankind. Genesis describes the origins of the world with simplicity, in binaries, for we have so little in common with foreign creatures, plants, dirt, sea and sky; a text by, for and about humans, Genesis then must detail its definition of them.
This binary thinking, while useful in a rough perception of nature, is challenged when applied to humans, in the Adam and Eve story. The first humans have the two options of eating from the tree of knowledge, thereby disobeying God and receiving the punishment of death, and keeping themselves from eating it, respecting God and living forever. Eve has committed the first deed and not the second. There exist the possibilities of living in or outside of the Garden of Eden, and they will be banished to the second. But this basic manner of thinking cannot apply to something so ephemeral as morals, and the author(s) must have been aware of this. For the most disobedient force was the snake; consequently it receives the worst punishment. The snake has a singular, simple, malicious motive. In Eve however, there are several sources of motivation: she believes the snake, she is hungry, and she desires the state of wisdom the snake claims the tree offers. Adam does not have the same motivations for eating from the tree of knowledge; he only has trust in his companion (2, 3). God is then forced to deviate from his binary treatment and create new categories, as his belligerent subjects represent to Him differing levels of moral turpitude. There now is God, supreme and to be obeyed, men, who disobey Him and receive adequate punishment, women, who disobey Him even more than men do and receive the same punishment plus that of childbirth, and the serpent, who commits the worst crime and receives the worst punishment.
The initial method of classifying items into two quickly loses applicability in Genesis. As soon as God or the author(s) attempt to define the origins of men and women, new levels of definition must be added. For as a text written by humans, the author(s) have a limited understanding of nature, and a far more complex one of mankind. Genesis describes the origins of the world with simplicity, in binaries, for we have so little in common with foreign creatures, plants, dirt, sea and sky; a text by, for and about humans, Genesis then must detail its definition of them.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Lysistrata's Scheme (Prompt 5)
Lysistrata tries to establish peace between the Greek poli by exploiting men's sexual desires. All the other women of "Lysistrata" at first have doubts whether her plan will work, and whether they are strong enough to participate. But after the women hear Lysistrata out and remind themselves of the hardships war causes them, they decide to work with her. Even though the women express cowardice in the beginning, and several find themselves giving in to their sexual desires later on, thereby undermining Lysistrata's efforts, they all nevertheless achieve mutually held goals. The women agree with Lysistrata's plan and carry it out with success.
On the other hand, the men disagree with Lysistrata's plan until the very end for two main reasons. (1) They doubt that peace can and should prevail. It is understandable that a world without war might be hard to imagine for the characters of "Lystistrata," especially the men, if they have spent many years at war without clear success. But by refusing to believe that peace could be established, the men demonstrate a lower level of intelligence next to their female counterparts, who do believe it. For by the end, Lysistrata and the other women prove the men wrong by doing what was unthinkable to them.
(2) The other reason that motivates - more so than their inability to foresee peace - the men to respond adversely to Lysistrata's scheme, is sexism. The men hate the idea and reality that the women manipulate them and gain power, even if it produces the universally acceptable result of peace. The women, however, understand their position in society to be inherently different than that of the men, but nevertheless equally vital. The rationale of sexism might seem completely inferior compared to the rationale of peace to the reader of today. But even if understood without knowledge of how the audience of "Lysistrata" might have treated the two genders, the men's chauvinism comes off as weak compared to the women's desire for order. For throughout the play, the male characters display themselves to be disorganized and inept. For instance, in preparation for an attack on the women, the men blow on coals for the fire to rise but repeatedly send smoke back into their faces (152). They are unprepared and unable to learn from their mistakes. And of course, ultimately, their notion that women cannot overpower men is refuted, as the women successfully manipulate them into establishing peace against their will. Contrary to what they believe, the men are in fact not as powerful as the women. But more than sexism's ultimate falseness, the hierarchy of the universal and timeless value for peace over violence succeeds in rejecting sexism. For instance, the argument between the Magistrate with his men and Lysistrata highlights this association of violence with sexism and peace with equality. When the Magistrate expresses surprise at the fact that the women triumph over his bowmen, Lysistrata says: "Did you think...that women couldn't have any stomach for a fight?" (159). The Magistrate responds to her rhetorical question with a joke, demonstrating his dedication to chauvinism: "They certainly do - any time a tavern-keeper tries to cheat them!" (159). This clash over gender differences is immediately followed by a clash of perspectives on war and peace in general, represented in the preceding skirmish. Stratyllis backs Lysistrata, claiming "we only want to stay demure at home doing no harm, disturbing not a twig" (159). The Men are then only able to respond by trying to get them to stop talking, thereby attempting to reassert their power: "Monsters, enough! Our patience now is gone" (159). The men's commitment to chauvinism keeps them from accepting peace; the women's dedication to peace leads them to refute sexism and rule in the world of "Lysistrata". By associating the men with failed sexism and violence, as well as the women with prevailing gender equality and peace, the "Lysistrata" upholds the main character's scheme over the men's.
On the other hand, the men disagree with Lysistrata's plan until the very end for two main reasons. (1) They doubt that peace can and should prevail. It is understandable that a world without war might be hard to imagine for the characters of "Lystistrata," especially the men, if they have spent many years at war without clear success. But by refusing to believe that peace could be established, the men demonstrate a lower level of intelligence next to their female counterparts, who do believe it. For by the end, Lysistrata and the other women prove the men wrong by doing what was unthinkable to them.
(2) The other reason that motivates - more so than their inability to foresee peace - the men to respond adversely to Lysistrata's scheme, is sexism. The men hate the idea and reality that the women manipulate them and gain power, even if it produces the universally acceptable result of peace. The women, however, understand their position in society to be inherently different than that of the men, but nevertheless equally vital. The rationale of sexism might seem completely inferior compared to the rationale of peace to the reader of today. But even if understood without knowledge of how the audience of "Lysistrata" might have treated the two genders, the men's chauvinism comes off as weak compared to the women's desire for order. For throughout the play, the male characters display themselves to be disorganized and inept. For instance, in preparation for an attack on the women, the men blow on coals for the fire to rise but repeatedly send smoke back into their faces (152). They are unprepared and unable to learn from their mistakes. And of course, ultimately, their notion that women cannot overpower men is refuted, as the women successfully manipulate them into establishing peace against their will. Contrary to what they believe, the men are in fact not as powerful as the women. But more than sexism's ultimate falseness, the hierarchy of the universal and timeless value for peace over violence succeeds in rejecting sexism. For instance, the argument between the Magistrate with his men and Lysistrata highlights this association of violence with sexism and peace with equality. When the Magistrate expresses surprise at the fact that the women triumph over his bowmen, Lysistrata says: "Did you think...that women couldn't have any stomach for a fight?" (159). The Magistrate responds to her rhetorical question with a joke, demonstrating his dedication to chauvinism: "They certainly do - any time a tavern-keeper tries to cheat them!" (159). This clash over gender differences is immediately followed by a clash of perspectives on war and peace in general, represented in the preceding skirmish. Stratyllis backs Lysistrata, claiming "we only want to stay demure at home doing no harm, disturbing not a twig" (159). The Men are then only able to respond by trying to get them to stop talking, thereby attempting to reassert their power: "Monsters, enough! Our patience now is gone" (159). The men's commitment to chauvinism keeps them from accepting peace; the women's dedication to peace leads them to refute sexism and rule in the world of "Lysistrata". By associating the men with failed sexism and violence, as well as the women with prevailing gender equality and peace, the "Lysistrata" upholds the main character's scheme over the men's.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
The Role of Alcibiades in the Symposium (Prompt 4)
Alcibiades contrasts with the other men at the symposium in many ways. Clearly, Alcibiades differs from the others in manner: drunk, he makes an emotional, confused and insulting speech. Meanwhile, the other men at the symposium have decided to refrain from heavy drinking in order to share insights in respectful, sober conversation.
Parallel to the respective behaviors of Alcibiades and the other men of the Symposium are the directions of their speeches. Phaedrus, Aristodemus, Pausanias, Socrates, Agathon, Aristophanes and Eryximachus have dedicated their symposium to the understanding and praise of Love. Each gives his own opinion of what Love is and how one should praise him, adding on to or modifying the view of another. For they share the common goal of making sense of the foreign and praise-worthy concept of Love. Alcibiades, however, does not have the same aim in his speech. Sharing his simultaneous "praise" and "reproach" of Socrates, Alcibiades haphazardly admits a range of personal emotions to his audience rather than answer a philosophical question (75). The relative aimlessness of Alcibiades' speech, next to the other men's, can be assumed to have resulted from an intoxicated state of mind. But it also reflects Alcibiades' comparably foolish decision to get drunk: he prefers the vulgar pleasures of alcohol, as well as the weakened mental state it entails, to his peers' sober search for an answer to a philosophical question, and the enlightened state to which it leads.
This lack of direction in Alcibiades' speech, foiled against the preceding speeches of the men at the symposium, points to inferiority in him as valuing vacancy over enlightenment. The subjects themselves that Alcibiades addresses - his disdain and love of Socrates - further highlight his deficiency. While the men of the Symposium speak of Love, a god who resides above men and enables their success, Alcibiades discusses Socrates - though a great philosopher, a single mortal man. Thus, Alcibiades focuses on a much more low-level topic than his peers. For in the world of the Symposium, value is placed on large, meaningful concepts over individual mortals. For example, one who truly loves beauty pursues it in all its forms, not just in one body, as Socrates claims Diotima says, just before Alcibiades' speech. "A lover...should love one body and beget beautiful ideas there; then he should realize that the beauty of any one body is brother to the beauty of any other...When he grasps this, he must become a lover of all beautiful bodies, and he must think that this wild gaping after just one body is a small thing and despise it" (57-58). Diotima then proceeds to say that the pursuit of beauty in all bodies is then a 'small thing' compared to beauty in its essence, or in all its forms. Alcibiades, revealing his emotions towards one man, Socrates, is caught up at a primary level then, according to Diotima. By placing Alcibiades' speech after Diotima lays out what should be valued and what should not, the Symposium encourages the reader to understand him as inferior to the other men, in that he values the individual mortal over the immortal concept.
Parallel to the respective behaviors of Alcibiades and the other men of the Symposium are the directions of their speeches. Phaedrus, Aristodemus, Pausanias, Socrates, Agathon, Aristophanes and Eryximachus have dedicated their symposium to the understanding and praise of Love. Each gives his own opinion of what Love is and how one should praise him, adding on to or modifying the view of another. For they share the common goal of making sense of the foreign and praise-worthy concept of Love. Alcibiades, however, does not have the same aim in his speech. Sharing his simultaneous "praise" and "reproach" of Socrates, Alcibiades haphazardly admits a range of personal emotions to his audience rather than answer a philosophical question (75). The relative aimlessness of Alcibiades' speech, next to the other men's, can be assumed to have resulted from an intoxicated state of mind. But it also reflects Alcibiades' comparably foolish decision to get drunk: he prefers the vulgar pleasures of alcohol, as well as the weakened mental state it entails, to his peers' sober search for an answer to a philosophical question, and the enlightened state to which it leads.
This lack of direction in Alcibiades' speech, foiled against the preceding speeches of the men at the symposium, points to inferiority in him as valuing vacancy over enlightenment. The subjects themselves that Alcibiades addresses - his disdain and love of Socrates - further highlight his deficiency. While the men of the Symposium speak of Love, a god who resides above men and enables their success, Alcibiades discusses Socrates - though a great philosopher, a single mortal man. Thus, Alcibiades focuses on a much more low-level topic than his peers. For in the world of the Symposium, value is placed on large, meaningful concepts over individual mortals. For example, one who truly loves beauty pursues it in all its forms, not just in one body, as Socrates claims Diotima says, just before Alcibiades' speech. "A lover...should love one body and beget beautiful ideas there; then he should realize that the beauty of any one body is brother to the beauty of any other...When he grasps this, he must become a lover of all beautiful bodies, and he must think that this wild gaping after just one body is a small thing and despise it" (57-58). Diotima then proceeds to say that the pursuit of beauty in all bodies is then a 'small thing' compared to beauty in its essence, or in all its forms. Alcibiades, revealing his emotions towards one man, Socrates, is caught up at a primary level then, according to Diotima. By placing Alcibiades' speech after Diotima lays out what should be valued and what should not, the Symposium encourages the reader to understand him as inferior to the other men, in that he values the individual mortal over the immortal concept.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
The Purpose of the Introductory Dialogue (Prompt 1)
In Plato's Symposium, several philosophers have a friendly conversation about the significance of the god Love. A man named Aristodemus once relayed this discussion to Apollodorus who does the same in the Symposium to another man named Glaucon. Finally, Plato passes on the same ideas to the reader via the Symposium. Thus, the meaning of Love at the core of the Symposium is interpreted by philosophers, then Aristodemus, then Apollodorus, then Plato, then us. This multitude of frames around an idea of truth about Love points to the importance of interpretation in the Symposium.
Each thinker - Phaedrus, Pausanius, Eryximachus, Aristophanes, Agathon, Socrates, Diotima, Alcibiades - has his own opinion of the nature of Love. Each man's view of Love may have components of another's, for they agree on certain points, but is in its entirety unique. The distinctive nature of each philosopher's thoughts on Love often motivates them to reject each other's ideas or modify parts of their own. Nevertheless, each philosopher remains convinced of a unique, composite view on Love.
Thus, we begin with multiple, varied interpretations of the same concept of Love. In relaying such views to Glaucon, Aristodemus and Apollodorus can both be assumed to influence them: it is highly doubtful that they remembers each man's speech, especially if the conversation took place years ago when they were all "still children" (2). Plato, then, has the ability to alter Apollodorus' version and Arisodemus' version as well as all the ideas of the philosophers. As readers, we have the freedom to accept or reject (parts of) Plato's ideas about Apollodorus' ideas about Aristodemus' ideas about the philosophers' ideas.
This filtering of ideas ideas through various interpretations - that the Symposium emphasizes so with multiple layers and the Introductory Dialogue - does not insinuate that there is no one true essence of Love. It rather suggests that one meaning of Love (and of any subject, for that matter) is unattainable, and that all Love can do for us is found in these honorable attempts to understand it. The process of comprehension - not the arrival at one definition - is the focus of the Symposium.
In Apollodorus' story in the Introductory Dialogue, one character Agathon seats himself next to Socrates so that he "may catch a bit of the wisdom that came to (him)" (5). But Sophocles responds: "How wonderful it would be, dear Agathon, if the foolish were filled with wisdom simply by touching the wise" (5). The physical action of 'touching' is not enough to gain wisdom; it takes thought and time. Similarly, the meaning of Love cannot be simply transmitted to the philosophers, then Aristodemus, Apollodorus, Plato and us. Meaning, like wisdom, is ephemeral, existing only in men's attempts to attain it.
Each thinker - Phaedrus, Pausanius, Eryximachus, Aristophanes, Agathon, Socrates, Diotima, Alcibiades - has his own opinion of the nature of Love. Each man's view of Love may have components of another's, for they agree on certain points, but is in its entirety unique. The distinctive nature of each philosopher's thoughts on Love often motivates them to reject each other's ideas or modify parts of their own. Nevertheless, each philosopher remains convinced of a unique, composite view on Love.
Thus, we begin with multiple, varied interpretations of the same concept of Love. In relaying such views to Glaucon, Aristodemus and Apollodorus can both be assumed to influence them: it is highly doubtful that they remembers each man's speech, especially if the conversation took place years ago when they were all "still children" (2). Plato, then, has the ability to alter Apollodorus' version and Arisodemus' version as well as all the ideas of the philosophers. As readers, we have the freedom to accept or reject (parts of) Plato's ideas about Apollodorus' ideas about Aristodemus' ideas about the philosophers' ideas.
This filtering of ideas ideas through various interpretations - that the Symposium emphasizes so with multiple layers and the Introductory Dialogue - does not insinuate that there is no one true essence of Love. It rather suggests that one meaning of Love (and of any subject, for that matter) is unattainable, and that all Love can do for us is found in these honorable attempts to understand it. The process of comprehension - not the arrival at one definition - is the focus of the Symposium.
In Apollodorus' story in the Introductory Dialogue, one character Agathon seats himself next to Socrates so that he "may catch a bit of the wisdom that came to (him)" (5). But Sophocles responds: "How wonderful it would be, dear Agathon, if the foolish were filled with wisdom simply by touching the wise" (5). The physical action of 'touching' is not enough to gain wisdom; it takes thought and time. Similarly, the meaning of Love cannot be simply transmitted to the philosophers, then Aristodemus, Apollodorus, Plato and us. Meaning, like wisdom, is ephemeral, existing only in men's attempts to attain it.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
The Role of Aegeus in "The Medea" (Prompt 8)
If you were thinking Medea's simply crazy or a horrible person, the interaction between her and Aegeus might be one of several moments in the play that would make you reconsider. For Aegeus proves such a kind and understanding character that we cannot but seeing the same qualities in Medea as long as they are "old friend(s)" (80). Aegeus genuinely cares about how Medea feels; he sympathizes with her, offers her advice and help in the form of a place of refuge. Especially against Medea's unfaithful husband Jason, Aegeus appears kind: he is a faithful friend and does not treat her as a barbarian like Aegeus does. At this point, we do know Medea to be violent and not completely truthful, hiding her plans from Aegeus and her future victims, but we can also see positive qualities in her personality: she values marriage, her children, and faithfulness, and she can think for herself and defy gender roles. The close friendship between Medea and Aegeus only makes her more likable.
The fact that Aegeus is not only a nice man but King of Athens is also significant. We know that the Athenian audience would have liked and respected the character of Aegeus just like they would in real life. That such a trustworthy, highly-regarded character can not only associate with Medea, but support her and sympathize with her, would have made the audience wonder if they should do the same just as it made me. Aegeus says, "Indeed, Medea, your grief was understandable" (83). When Medea tells Aegeus she will be exiled from Corinth, Aegeus responds with astonishment: "Banished? By whom? Here you tell me of a new wrong" (83).When Aegeus sees Medea, he is unaware of her plans to murder her family, the princess and her father in order to spite her husband Jason. But if not only Medea herself and the Chorus, but the King of Athens - whose opinion we are supposed to trust - all think her grief is "understandable" and her impending exile "wrong," then it is highly unclear how we should think of Medea. She is at once a devious, ruthless murderer and an unlucky, mistreated, sane woman.
The fact that Aegeus is not only a nice man but King of Athens is also significant. We know that the Athenian audience would have liked and respected the character of Aegeus just like they would in real life. That such a trustworthy, highly-regarded character can not only associate with Medea, but support her and sympathize with her, would have made the audience wonder if they should do the same just as it made me. Aegeus says, "Indeed, Medea, your grief was understandable" (83). When Medea tells Aegeus she will be exiled from Corinth, Aegeus responds with astonishment: "Banished? By whom? Here you tell me of a new wrong" (83).When Aegeus sees Medea, he is unaware of her plans to murder her family, the princess and her father in order to spite her husband Jason. But if not only Medea herself and the Chorus, but the King of Athens - whose opinion we are supposed to trust - all think her grief is "understandable" and her impending exile "wrong," then it is highly unclear how we should think of Medea. She is at once a devious, ruthless murderer and an unlucky, mistreated, sane woman.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Clytemnestra and Athena (Prompt 8)
Both Clytemnestra and Athena are exceptional women in that they deviate from common roles of female goddesses and mortals. As the goddess of war, Athena is imbued with characteristics more often associated with male characters. But Athena, unlike Clytemnestra, is accepted and even revered because she embodies only positive characteristics associated with women and men.
Clytemnestra is, of course, imbued with the deviousness associated with many other female characters in Ancient Greek literature (Calypso, Circe, Hera, Aphrodite). But her acquisition of certain "male" traits and abandonment of certain "female" traits is the last straw for Clytemnestra.
A willingness to avenge the wrongly dead (as we see in her son Orestes) takes over Clytemnestra and even leads her to hold and use a sword, unlike any other woman. The unfaithfulness we see when Agamemnon arrives in his chariot with another woman has also been adopted by Clytemnestra, with Aegisthus.
One trait associated with femininity Clytemnestra abandons is submissiveness. She refuses to appease Agamemnon after killing Iphigenia, even though that was considered necessary. Clytemnestra also relinquishes all motherly qualities, highlighting her distance from Orestes, which adds justification to his matricide. Apollo claims, "The mother is no parent of that which is called / her child, but only nurse of the new-planted seed / that grows" (158). By shedding herself of the roles of mother and wife, as well as by assuming the role of an avenger, Clytemnestra rebels and later receives an adequate punishment for non-conformity. Clytemnestra and Athena are similar in their atypical combination of female and male characteristics. But while the most acceptable traits of both genders manifest themselves in Athena, the least acceptable characteristics present themselves in Clytemnestra.
Clytemnestra is, of course, imbued with the deviousness associated with many other female characters in Ancient Greek literature (Calypso, Circe, Hera, Aphrodite). But her acquisition of certain "male" traits and abandonment of certain "female" traits is the last straw for Clytemnestra.
A willingness to avenge the wrongly dead (as we see in her son Orestes) takes over Clytemnestra and even leads her to hold and use a sword, unlike any other woman. The unfaithfulness we see when Agamemnon arrives in his chariot with another woman has also been adopted by Clytemnestra, with Aegisthus.
One trait associated with femininity Clytemnestra abandons is submissiveness. She refuses to appease Agamemnon after killing Iphigenia, even though that was considered necessary. Clytemnestra also relinquishes all motherly qualities, highlighting her distance from Orestes, which adds justification to his matricide. Apollo claims, "The mother is no parent of that which is called / her child, but only nurse of the new-planted seed / that grows" (158). By shedding herself of the roles of mother and wife, as well as by assuming the role of an avenger, Clytemnestra rebels and later receives an adequate punishment for non-conformity. Clytemnestra and Athena are similar in their atypical combination of female and male characteristics. But while the most acceptable traits of both genders manifest themselves in Athena, the least acceptable characteristics present themselves in Clytemnestra.
A Revealing Final Conversation (Prompt 5)
In "The Libation Bearers," both Orestes and his mother, Clytemnestra, experience a range of revealing emotions before their imminent conflict.
Even though Apollo has encouraged Orestes to avenge his father and ensured his safety from punishment, Clytemnestra's son still has doubt. In the last minute, Orestes needs extra assurance of his friend, asking "What shall I do, Pylades? Be shamed to kill my mother" (124). For even though Apollo, as well as Pylades and the Chorus see Orestes' revenge as necessary and just, he has also to fathom the law against matricide and its curse. Orestes is conflicted, not only because of his horrible duty, but because of two forces that cannot be reconciled. Nevertheless, Orestes later gains the courage to carry out the deed with dignity: "Yes, this is death, your wages for my fathers fate" (126). Orestes must leave behind qualms, and instead choose a side and justify it. Orestes is an impulsive, uncertain character.
Clytemnestra shows a greater range of emotions than Orestes - not just from hesitant to certain. Clytemnestra first is portrayed as weak, sad and motherly: "Oh take pity, child, before this breast / where many a time, a drowsing baby, you would feed" (124). Clytemnestra's technique moves from innocent and miserable, to somewhat guilty and logical, partially blaming "destiny" for Agamemnon's death (125). As death approaches, Clytemnestra changes her manner to angry and cold: "Take care. Your mother's curse, like dogs, will drag you down" (126). As Clytemnestra's death becomes more and more apparent, she almost becomes less fearful. Clytemnestra's motherly and innocent affectations fade, while she accepts more and more blame for killing Agamemnon. As well, Clytemnestra's feeling of distance from her Orestes turns into a feeling of hatred for him. In her last conversation with Orestes, as Clytemnestra accepts fate feelings of hatred for her son and pride in the murder of her husband are expressed.
Even though Apollo has encouraged Orestes to avenge his father and ensured his safety from punishment, Clytemnestra's son still has doubt. In the last minute, Orestes needs extra assurance of his friend, asking "What shall I do, Pylades? Be shamed to kill my mother" (124). For even though Apollo, as well as Pylades and the Chorus see Orestes' revenge as necessary and just, he has also to fathom the law against matricide and its curse. Orestes is conflicted, not only because of his horrible duty, but because of two forces that cannot be reconciled. Nevertheless, Orestes later gains the courage to carry out the deed with dignity: "Yes, this is death, your wages for my fathers fate" (126). Orestes must leave behind qualms, and instead choose a side and justify it. Orestes is an impulsive, uncertain character.
Clytemnestra shows a greater range of emotions than Orestes - not just from hesitant to certain. Clytemnestra first is portrayed as weak, sad and motherly: "Oh take pity, child, before this breast / where many a time, a drowsing baby, you would feed" (124). Clytemnestra's technique moves from innocent and miserable, to somewhat guilty and logical, partially blaming "destiny" for Agamemnon's death (125). As death approaches, Clytemnestra changes her manner to angry and cold: "Take care. Your mother's curse, like dogs, will drag you down" (126). As Clytemnestra's death becomes more and more apparent, she almost becomes less fearful. Clytemnestra's motherly and innocent affectations fade, while she accepts more and more blame for killing Agamemnon. As well, Clytemnestra's feeling of distance from her Orestes turns into a feeling of hatred for him. In her last conversation with Orestes, as Clytemnestra accepts fate feelings of hatred for her son and pride in the murder of her husband are expressed.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
What's So Bad About Clytaemestra? (Prompt 4)
Kassandra, Agamemnon, Chorus, I hear you: Clytemnestra is a terrible woman. She kills Agamemnon upon his return from so many years at war, she is unfaithful with Aegisthus, and she likes the idea of taking over Argos with him once her husband is dead. She appears to feel no remorse for her actions, and it doesn't help that she speaks like a crazy murderer: "That man is Agamemnon, my husband; he is dead; the work of this right hand that struck in strength of righteousness. And that is that" (81).
But I don't know if I see Clytemnestra as such a bad person as Kassandra, Agamemnon and the Chorus do. Nor should we make the assumption that, given the historical and social context in which "Agamemnon" was written, Aeschylus saw and described Clytemnestra to be as horrible as the characters see her. Outside of her power-greed and lust, her motives for killing her husband are legitimate: she wishes to avenge her daughter, whom Agamemnon "slaughtered like a victim...to charm away the winds of Thrace" (81). I would also argue that this is her main motive, as she mentions revenge for the death of her daughter first and more often than the prospects of going off with Aegisthus and attaining power.
Perhaps I am biased, because I just do not understand the idea that Iphegenia had to die. I not only am not living in the social and historical time of "Agamemnon," fully grasping the notion that her sacrifice was necessary for favorable winds, but I am not a spiritual person. But Clytemnestra doesn't get it either, so I don't think I'm crazy. How could Agamemnon kill his own daughter, so innocent, so precious to Clytemnestra and presumably her siblings?
I feel as though I am not supposed to feel this sympathy for Clytemnestra: nobody in "Agamemnon" nor "The Odyssey" has anything nice to say about her, and she is imbued with a certain selfishness, which manifests itself in her cheating with Aegisthus and her hopes of power in Agamemnon's place. Also, it is not out of the question to assume I am supposed to hold certain gender biases, classifying Clytemnestra as just another devious woman, such as Calypso, Circe, Hera, and Aphrodite.
But perhaps it is exactly this conflicted feeling that Aeschylus intended. Maybe one aspect that made this play so popular is the complexity of our 'villain.' What would you do if someone killed your child? On the surface, Clytemnestra is a caricature of a villain, a devious woman. Beneath the surface, however, Clytemnestra may have the same love for family that we would have, whether we would like to admit it or not.
But I don't know if I see Clytemnestra as such a bad person as Kassandra, Agamemnon and the Chorus do. Nor should we make the assumption that, given the historical and social context in which "Agamemnon" was written, Aeschylus saw and described Clytemnestra to be as horrible as the characters see her. Outside of her power-greed and lust, her motives for killing her husband are legitimate: she wishes to avenge her daughter, whom Agamemnon "slaughtered like a victim...to charm away the winds of Thrace" (81). I would also argue that this is her main motive, as she mentions revenge for the death of her daughter first and more often than the prospects of going off with Aegisthus and attaining power.
Perhaps I am biased, because I just do not understand the idea that Iphegenia had to die. I not only am not living in the social and historical time of "Agamemnon," fully grasping the notion that her sacrifice was necessary for favorable winds, but I am not a spiritual person. But Clytemnestra doesn't get it either, so I don't think I'm crazy. How could Agamemnon kill his own daughter, so innocent, so precious to Clytemnestra and presumably her siblings?
I feel as though I am not supposed to feel this sympathy for Clytemnestra: nobody in "Agamemnon" nor "The Odyssey" has anything nice to say about her, and she is imbued with a certain selfishness, which manifests itself in her cheating with Aegisthus and her hopes of power in Agamemnon's place. Also, it is not out of the question to assume I am supposed to hold certain gender biases, classifying Clytemnestra as just another devious woman, such as Calypso, Circe, Hera, and Aphrodite.
But perhaps it is exactly this conflicted feeling that Aeschylus intended. Maybe one aspect that made this play so popular is the complexity of our 'villain.' What would you do if someone killed your child? On the surface, Clytemnestra is a caricature of a villain, a devious woman. Beneath the surface, however, Clytemnestra may have the same love for family that we would have, whether we would like to admit it or not.
Penelope's Masculinity (Prompt 6)
We all know that women are inferior to men in the worlds of "The Iliad" and "The Odyssey." When we think of why they are considered inferior, we might look at the fact that there are more instances of women being devious or selfish than there are of men: Circe, Calypso, Aphrodite, Hera, Clytemnestra provide the major examples. They really are selfish. But women in "The Odyssey" are often not defined by their immoral actions; they simply are inferior because they are women. Helen, for instance, is blamed for the Trojan War and labeled a horrible woman for that reason, even though it was truly Paris' lust and selfishness that started the conflict. It is merely the fact that Helen is a woman - in fact, the epitome of woman-ness, since she is the most beautiful woman - that means that she deserves disrespect, as well as more blame than Paris. Somehow, women in these epics are inherently second-class, no matter what they do.
However, Penelope may provide an exception to this rule. The suitors criticize her for being "cunning" (21), leading them on and tricking them. But at no point in "The Odyssey" does anything the suitors say have any gravity - we are never expected to believe them or side with them for a second. No, Penelope is pretty perfect. She is loyal, beautiful, kind, generous, and intelligent.
Perhaps the main reason, however, why Penelope is so perfect - almost at a man's level - is that she has certain qualities associated more with men than with women. She definitely does not have the bad qualities more associated with women, of being devious, cunning, and selfish. Instead, Penelope is strong, and a good fighter, like a man. For she really does hold the fort while Odysseus is away, cleverly putting off marriage to one of the suitors at home, and never giving up on her husband. In Book 23, when Penelope apologizes for not welcoming Odysseus on sight, she demonstrates her toughness: "I armed myself long ago against the frauds of men, impostors who might come - and all those many whose underhanded ways bring evil on!" (436). Not only does Penelope use the word "armed" to describe her self-protection, but here she recalls how she was able to successfully stay above these men's tricks. Penelope essentially did her part in fighting in the war at Odysseus' palace. Though Penelope does not perform the manly tasks of holding a sword and actually killing the suitors as the men in her family do in "The Odyssey," she does what all she can to help, within the confines of her femininity. It is Penelope's acting in as much of a masculine manner as possible, that makes Penelope the exception to the rule that all women are inferior. In "The Odyssey," women are innately second-class to men, unless they are able to exhibit certain "masculine" characteristics - it seems specifically bravery and strength in conflicts.
However, Penelope may provide an exception to this rule. The suitors criticize her for being "cunning" (21), leading them on and tricking them. But at no point in "The Odyssey" does anything the suitors say have any gravity - we are never expected to believe them or side with them for a second. No, Penelope is pretty perfect. She is loyal, beautiful, kind, generous, and intelligent.
Perhaps the main reason, however, why Penelope is so perfect - almost at a man's level - is that she has certain qualities associated more with men than with women. She definitely does not have the bad qualities more associated with women, of being devious, cunning, and selfish. Instead, Penelope is strong, and a good fighter, like a man. For she really does hold the fort while Odysseus is away, cleverly putting off marriage to one of the suitors at home, and never giving up on her husband. In Book 23, when Penelope apologizes for not welcoming Odysseus on sight, she demonstrates her toughness: "I armed myself long ago against the frauds of men, impostors who might come - and all those many whose underhanded ways bring evil on!" (436). Not only does Penelope use the word "armed" to describe her self-protection, but here she recalls how she was able to successfully stay above these men's tricks. Penelope essentially did her part in fighting in the war at Odysseus' palace. Though Penelope does not perform the manly tasks of holding a sword and actually killing the suitors as the men in her family do in "The Odyssey," she does what all she can to help, within the confines of her femininity. It is Penelope's acting in as much of a masculine manner as possible, that makes Penelope the exception to the rule that all women are inferior. In "The Odyssey," women are innately second-class to men, unless they are able to exhibit certain "masculine" characteristics - it seems specifically bravery and strength in conflicts.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)