The Crux moment in Brave New World, the paradox of hedonism, and the meaning of life

“But I don’t want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin.”

“In fact,” said Mustapha Mond, “you’re claiming the right to be unhappy.”

“All right then,” said the Savage defiantly, “I’m claiming the right to be unhappy.”

“Not to mention the right to grow old and ugly and impotent; the right to have syphilis and cancer; the right to have too little to eat; the right to be lousy; the right to live in constant apprehension of what may happen to-morrow; the right to catch typhoid; the right to be tortured by unspeakable pains of every kind.”

There was a long silence.

“I claim them all,” said the Savage at last.

— Brave New World, pg 211

John the Savage’s defiant claim, so late into his interaction with a society saturated with pleasure, brings the reader out of a numbed state (I’ll admit to considering John irrational while he rejected Lenina despite his attraction to her) and leaves them freshly critical of the society of 632 A.F. He thus departs to an abandoned lighthouse where he frantically ‘cleanses’ himself through incantations and self-flagellation until his eventual suicide. But why does John act like that?

Brave New World, in my opinion, gets a lot of things wrong about the future of society. Governments, have, in general, become more open in the last 80 years since the publication of the novel, and it doesn’t seem plausible that the government is at the root of society itself. Huxley hints at consumerism driving society, but this seems to come from the government. Only sports requiring expensive and complex equipment, such as “Hyperbolic Tennis” and “Obstacle Golf” are permitted. But again, the trend is towards privatization. Companies shape and drive consumerism, not governments. Socialism has waned.

But the fundamental message behind the book, the one that I think is truest today and what is essentially incorrect in Nineteen Eighty-Four is the interaction of government with human nature. Concerning the latter, it is safe to say that a government based on  terror, withholding information, engineered poverty, and exploitation for its own sake to keep people in repression is not a viable one. However, a government that, rather than taking away something, takes away the desire to have that something – be it monogamous love, books, religion…that’s quite a force to be reckoned with.

The issue presented in the excerpt is the main one explored in Brave New World. Technological advancement was accelerating in the 1930’s and continues to do so. We seek technology to give us pleasure, in the short-term. But what about happiness? Isn’t it said that those only those who have different aims can find happiness?

To quote Soren Kierkegaard: “Most men pursue happiness with such breathless haste that they hurry past it.”

This is known as the paradox of hedonism. Receiving pleasure does not bring happiness. Perhaps this confusion stems from human nature – we frequently have trouble distinguishing between short-term and long-term desires.

Nobody wants cancer or syphilis or starvation. The world is better off without them. Starving families and cancer patients do not bring happiness. This is benign technology. But what about sentient “friendly AI” – Robot butlers? Increasingly realistic video games? More potent drugs?

Nearly all of us seek to reduce pain in the short-term. But the fact is, we can’t, or at least couldn’t, make it go away entirely. Pain and suffering are the driving force of humanity. Isn’t the inconvenience of life really what it’s all about? We can’t wish our problems away, but nowadays, a large number of powerful distractions are available.

There are those who glorify pain, suffering, and struggle. Friedrich Nietzsche proclaimed, rather counter-intuitively, “That which does not kill me, can only make me stronger” (Kanye West might have mentioned something along those lines as well). The Underground Man decided that “Pain is the sole origin of consciousness” and that the purpose of life was the “journey” – getting to the end of it would mean the end of free will, the end of purpose, the creation of a great table of values that defined existence.

I think to one of my favorite works of non-literary merit, the distance-running cult clussic Once a Runner. After the protagonist, Quenton Cassidy, wins a major race against the mile world-record holder after months of training in solitude, the narrator sums up:

“Quenton Cassidy looked up, gave a little smile and wave and thought, I have nowhere to go.

It was then that Bruce Denton turned with a sigh and walked alone toward the gate, thinking that Quenton Cassidy’s smile looked sad indeed…” (Parker, 269).

Cassidy’s quest to win is a metaphor for life. In the end, successful or not, the journey is more satisfying and meaningful than the end result. Distance running is, to me, the ultimate search for ones’ self, engineering trial after trial to keep this forward spirit alive. Happiness lies at the end of the road. The worst fear is that of idleness, of refraining from pursuing new goals and destination, or becoming too self-satisfied to continue on.

And the society of Brave New World signifies the end of that journey and its horrifying destination. This is what John the Savage can’t grapple with. As someone who reads and recites Shakespeare, is conditioned to bear the responsibilities of Indian society with none of its benefits, he is constantly stuck in the journey, willing to even sweep Lenina Crowne’s floor so that he can deserve her. “Soma is Christianity without tears,” boasts Mustapha Mond. But what use are the benefits of Christianity without the tears?

To pull in yet another work, White Noise by Don DeLillo, into the discussion, life is made all the more sacred by death – it gives it necessary parameters, enhances its definition. This does indirectly support my idea – life’s purpose is inextricably linked to its journey, its progression from beginning to end. To rid life all obstacles, to render it devoid of suffering and difficulty, is to remove its meaning altogether

Brave New World, Chapters 1 – 3

I decided to give The Magic Mountain a temporary hiatus because I concluded that it was far too difficult and long for me to analyze effectively as independent reading. Thus, I will not be posting about it in the near future, but maybe later. I will, however, attempt to finish it all the same.

I turned my attention instead to Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World. The first three chapters consist mainly of exposition, where a group of science students are introduced to the hatchery by The Director of Hatcheries and Conditioning. The Hatchery is a massive complex in which eggs from select Fertilizers are divided into more identical eggs (between 8 and 96, to be precise) by something called the Bokanovsky process. The eggs are then treated accordingly to separate into five classes – alphas, betas, gammas, and epsilons. The lower classes, as embryos, are given less exposure to oxygen and even imbued with alcohol to ensure a retarded development. At later stages in life they are conditioned to hate books (The students are given a demonstration of Neo-Pavlovian practices, such as delivering painful electric shocks ever time a gamma baby goes near a book), and nature. In addition, they attend Elementary Class Consciousness sessions where they hear messages repeated over and over again, messages instructing them to scorn lower classes and revere upper ones. Personally, I found this practice not only disagreeable but stupid. Human society is run like a business, making sure that future factory workers will be too stupid to want to create anything better. I was reminded of a long-range study initiated by Lewis Terman, who gathered up a group of over 1,000 exceptionally high-IQ young children, dubbed “Termites” (Terman had invented the IQ test and wanted to conduct a social experiment on these so-called “superior beings.” The high-IQ children, tracked over the courses of their lives, divided into similar demographics in terms of wealth and success as the “normal population.” Meanwhile, many future successes, including William Shockley, who won a Nobel Prize and is considered the father of the Silicon Valley and an important player in the computer revolution, was rejected from this exclusive group (Source: Outliers, Malcolm Gladwell). Strangely enough, despite a willingness, and apparent need, to produce genius (The alpha-pluses, destined to become world leaders), the government seems to choose the social classes based on the strength of the embryos. Considering that I was born with a heart condition, I probably would have become a gamma in the society based on my viability as an embryo!

Society is inherently materialistic. Henry Ford, builder of the Ford Model T, who revolutionized consumption and materialism, is considered the God of the civilization, and years are counted from when the Model T was introduced (currently the year is 632 AF). In addition, Sigmund Freud, who equated love with sexual desires, and published around the same time as Ford, is similarly revered. Games are required to have complicated apparatus and traveling to the country is considered good because it “increases consumption” – children are conditioned to hate nature so as to not distract them from the factories, but as they need to go to the country to increase consumption, they are conditioned to love sports (which require lots of equipment to play), such as the referred-to “obstacle golf”(sounds complicated).

Later in life, the society is based entirely on promiscuity. Children participate in sex games from young ages and the prevalent culture is Ending is better than mending. However, a few misfits are introduced. Lenina Crowne, a vaccination worker at the Hatchery, perplexes her sister when she admits to having dated a man almost exclusively for an entire 4 months. Meanwhile, Bernard Marx, an Alpha-plus of whom very little is known so far (he is ugly and short, and his profession is not yet revealed) thinks angrily to himself as a few people by him are discussing women, “Talking about her as if she were a bit of meat”(Huxley 51). Crowne admits to her sister that the admires Marx. A conflict between Crowne and Marx, and the rest of society is introduced. Crowne does not fit in because she is not inherently promiscuous and Marx does not because of his hate for promiscuity, his stunted stature, and his disdain for sports.

Essentially, I sense the development of this to follow the path of Crowne’s and Marx’s alienation from the rest of society. Towards the end of the 3rd chapter, the pace of the book picks up pace from before, rapidly switching between scenes (every couple sentences), overwhelming the reader and creating a sense of movement. I’m very keen to find out what happens next.

 

Process Essay on Three Novels

Lauri Takacsi-Nagy

Mortality Essay

Joseph Heller’s Catch-22 momentarily departs from its colorful off-beat humor at its solemn climax as the protagonist, John Yossarian, witnesses the graphic death of another soldier, Snowden. He realizes that “Man was matter…The spirit gone, man was garbage. Ripeness was all” and comes to fearfully face his own mortality. But what is so special about it? [1] Death is the ultimate equalizing force – Everyone, rich or poor, despite their actions or significance, must come to terms with it. And although most people can proceed in their everyday lives without pondering the implications of their eventual demise, characters in Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, Ernest Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls, and Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five are forced to reconsider their values and place their own lives and actions in perspective with the advent of their own death. In Heart of Darkness, Charlie Marlow travels to Africa, where he witnesses how the great ivory trader Kurtz’s utter disregard for the life of others leaves him unable to face his own death. In For Whom the Bell Tolls, Robert Jordan, initially unafraid of his own death, comes to value his own life more than he expected. And in Slaughterhouse-Five, an unconventional narrative structure highlights the acceptance of death and forces greater than oneself on the part of the author himself. Stylistic choices, narrative construction, perception of time, and meta-narration in all three novels emphasize mortality and its effects on the characters. [2] Utilizing these elements, each author weaves complex internal conflicts which address and explore the themes of fate, free will, death, and characters’ struggles to accept a world which, to a great extent, they cannot control. [3]

Broader themes temporarily aside, particular features of narrative construction in all three novels indirectly discuss the respective works’ perspective on the role of death in a person’s life. In Heart of Darkness, Joseph Conrad crafts an additional layer of narration to comment on the practice of story-telling itself. The reader is essentially placed in the same position as the narrator, who listens to Marlow’s long story of his experience in the Congo. In this way, Marlow’s recounts are definitively defined as such, as memories; through his telling, [4] he is exposed as someone who tells a story which he has already been affected by. This is clear in the shifting handling of time and narrative focus. While he tells of his time at the trading post, Marlow imparts that “I was then rather excited at the prospect of meeting Kurtz very soon. When I say very soon I mean it comparatively. It was just two months from the day we left the creek when we came to the bank….” (Conrad 41). While some passages of the dialogue are detailed, reflective, and even sluggish, skips often take place. The story is ultimately a chain of linear, but disconnected, chain of events. Any sense of time disappears upon Marlow’s return to Europe, as he describes his experiences: “I tottered about the streets-there were various affairs to settle-grinning bitterly…I admit my behavior was…seldom normal in those days” (Conrad 89) and then tells of random events there. With these shifts of focus, and the depart from strictly linear narration, the power of the experiences upon the story-teller are exposed. The narrator and reader can deduce the relative importance of events based upon the specificity of their treatment, and Marlow’s state of mind based upon the level of focus. Marlow’s sense of time in imparting his narrative is skewed by the intensity of the mortality he witnessed, especially that of Kurtz’s. He leaves the reader with a story that, through its structure, plays with their sense of time. Thus, Heart of Darkness is not just a story, but also an exploration of Marlow’s psyche. As a meta-narrator he does not comment on a story as it unfolds; rather, he recounts it after it has had its full effects on him. His unreliable narration shows the clear effect that mortality, particularly Kurtz’s death, has on his perception of time and his ability to convey it.

In For Whom the Bell Tolls, impending death and mortality are handled quite differently in narrative structure. The entire narration is told in third person and comprises the events of approximately three days. [5] As with Heart of Darkness, the sense of time is somewhat skewed as rich internal dialogue, parallel plots, and multiple perspectives handle the events in incredible detail. Elements of omniscient narration and parallel plots create a strong sense of determinism. When Anselmo keeps post by the road and counts the Fascist vehicles that pass by, he is passed by a camouflaged town car “for the use of the General staff, but Anselmo did not know that…The officer on the folding chair was looking out of the slit in the blue of the window as the car passed but Anselmo did not know this” (Hemingway 200). The unknown third-person narrator later claims that even if Andres had gotten through to General Golz in time, the attack could not have been delayed. Moreover, as Golz watches the planes fly over his station to attack, he thinks of how things could be if the Republican military ran more smoothly and realizes the futility of the attack (Hemingway 447). Meanwhile, in the parallel plot, Robert Jordan and others are confidently preparing for battle, excited by the possibility of victory. Through this construction and narration, the reader becomes aware of the ultimate failure of the mission before the characters themselves do. By stripping away plot development, the narrator places considerable emphasis on the internal dialogue of the characters, and is thus able to further explore character development in the face of impending doom. These devices assert the pervasive feeling of helplessness, mortality and ultimatum decisions yet to come.

In keeping with a great portion of the canon of post-modern literature, Slaughterhouse-Five alters the reader’s perception of reality. In particular, the narration marks an almost complete departure from linear narrative, constituting a fundamentally different construction of space and time. Via the story-within-a-story framework, as in Heart of Darkness, the narrator toys with time. The “author” hints at the causes of the circular plot in the first chapter, characterizing himself as “a trafficker in climaxes and thrills and characterizations and suspense and confrontations…” (Vonnegut 5), realizing that the best construction of the novel had the World War II experiences “represented by a vertical band of orange cross-hatching, and all the lines that were still alive passed through it…”(Vonnegut 5). The narration of Billy Pilgrim’s skips through time and places the events leading up to the bombing of Dresden at the center, with its gradual development in focus and other events of the life occurring in parallel. The juxtaposition of the war experience with the rest of Billy’s life claims its central importance in his life and his perspective on mortality. The handling of time additionally reinforces this. The narrator states that “As a time traveler, [Billy Pilgrim] has seen his own death many times, has described it to a tape recorder” (Vonnegut 141), and also exposes the event itself, well before the end of the novel. Through this construction, the effect of “life flashing before one’s eyes” and acceptance of fate is created. What if death were not the last thing to happen to a person? Through non-linear narrative, Vonnegut invites and indulges in exploration of the possibility. Moreover, the Tralfamadorians function as a foil to the regular human perception of reality, as they can see in the fourth dimension and are thus able to incorporate multiple separate time frames into their sight. In the analogy they present, they see time as a human would see a stretch of the Rocky Mountains, all at once. On the other hand, humans must see them through a single six-inch-long pipe of an eyehole while trapped in a flatcar moving through the stretch (Vonnegut 115). Vonnegut shows that to understand life and mortality, time must be considered through frames other than those that humans have been bound to perceive.

Fate and free will, naturally, play an important role in the discussion of death. All three novels present a great degree of determinism in the characters’ experiences. For Marlow, when he enters the Company’s office in Brussels, he encounters “two women, one fat and the other slim, [sitting] on straw-bottomed chairs, knitting black wool” (Conrad 11). This is a clear allusion to the Fates in Greek mythology, who spun the predetermined thread which dictated each person’s life. The encounter with the doctor who warns Marlow that men go insane in Africa also suggests that the journey is ill-fated from the beginning. In addition, the description of Brussels as a “whited sepulchre”(Conrad 10) foreshadows Marlow’s eventual return, disillusionment, and new perspective on mortality (especially, considering that when he tells the story, he has already experienced the journey in Africa and now is describing Europe from a transformed perspective). Moreover, while on his journey, he finds himself unable to resist the enthralling lure of the “heart of darkness,” or the middle of Africa, characterizing it as “smiling, frowning, inviting, grand, mean, insipid, or savage, and always mute with an air of whispering, Come and find out”(Conrad 15). He experiences the attractions of the jungle, realizing that  “Perhaps on some quiet night the tremor of far-off drums, sinking, swelling, a tremor, vast, faint, a sound weird, appealing, suggestive, and wild – and perhaps with as profound a meaning as the sound of bells in a Christian country.” As the story progresses, it becomes more and more clear that Marlow cannot resist the “heart of darkness” in his journey towards Kurtz. The Congo River’s flow comes to symbolize his inevitable journey into the heart of Africa, as well as his departure from civilization and his realization of his mortality. He feels as though he is destined to find Kurtz at all costs, so in a way the sense of destiny comes from within. He is driven forward by his “passion for maps” and exploration. Just as the Congo River inevitably flows inward, Marlow’s own curiosity and courage take over him in exploring the heart of darkness. The interplay between the plot and Marlow’s reaction to it challenges the notion of control that men have over their own life and actions and conjectures an inevitable corruption and realization of mortality on the part of Marlow, as it happened to Kurtz.

The themes of destiny and free will are also explored extensively in For Whom the Bell Tolls. Through internal dialogue, Robert Jordan comments that “You are instruments to do your duty. There are necessary orders…and that bridge can be the point on which the future of human race can turn” (Hemingway 46). It becomes clear that Robert Jordan, with an extremely strong sense of duty, will not compromise his character at any point, fighting even at the point of his of his own death (Hemingway 490). Yet the mission is fated to be a failed one from the beginning. Robert Jordan resents the orders and understands that it is a suicide mission, stating that “They were bad orders all right for those who would have to carry them out” (Hemingway 46). Jordan realizes this himself as repeated developments such as snow, Pablo’s desertion, and widespread gossip about the “surprise attack” in Madrid and neighboring towns compromises the mission long before it is carried about. As mentioned earlier, omniscient narration affirms the eventual futility of the attack, adding a strong element of determinism to the plot. Pilar even predicts future tragedies, reading Jordan’s palm and making a prediction (Hemingway 35). With war and death being so inevitable, the internal dialogues of the characters present a wide range of attitudes and reactions.

Of the three novels, it is Slaughterhouse-Five that explores the themes of free will and destiny the most deeply. The inhabitants of Tralfamadore, the alien planet Billy visits, deride the humans’ conception of free will, scoffing that “‘If [we] hadn’t spent so much time studying Earthlings, [we] wouldn’t have any idea what is meant by ‘free will’…only on Earth is there any talk of free will’”(Vonnegut 86). They affirm the notion of the inevitability of events, especially death, in telling Billy Pilgrim how they know exactly how the universe will end, yet how they cannot and will not do anything about it (Vonnegut 117). In addition, the plot developments reveal the absence and rejection of free will. Billy Pilgrim, so weak-minded as to resent being saved from drowning in a pool as a child and to rather be left alone than to be a burden to the rest of his unit, outlives Edgar Derby, who is the most able soldier at the POW camp. Just as ironically, Paul Lazzaro, the weakest, vilest, and most scheming soldier at the camp, ends up being responsible for Billy Pilgrim’s death. The narrator acknowledges the power of destiny, explaining that “there are almost no characters in this story…because most of the people in it are so sick and the listless playthings of enormous forces” (Vonnegut 164). In this rejection of free will, characters are forced upon their fates with no way to prepare for it. Even though Edgar Derby was the fittest and most able soldier, there was nothing he could do to avoid his tragic and absurd death. With the world as such, perhaps one of the only freedoms that people have left are their reactions to the life that controls them.

As the presentation of time and destiny in the novels has been analyzed, an examination of their effects on the characters in each of the novels must follow. In Heart of Darkness, the two characters that must come to terms with their own mortality are Marlow, and the great ivory trader Kurtz. When Marlow discovers Kurtz, the latter is in a highly progressed state of degeneration and complains constantly of the tragedy that is befalling him. Marlow heavily criticizes Kurtz’s reaction to death, pronouncing his soul to be “satiated with primitive emotions, avid of lying fame, of sham distinction, of all the appearances of success and power” and then notes that “Sometimes he was contemptibly childish. He desired to have kings meet him at railway stations…” (Conrad 85). Kurtz, mad with power and the assumed demigod status with which he has been living for years, is unable to face his own mortality. Upon his deathbed, he continues to uphold himself as a superior being, living through his hollow former glory. Then, just moments before the end of his life, he realizes the weight of his actions, crying out “Live rightly, die, die…” and in his defining moment, through “intense and hopeless despair… ‘The horror! The horror!’”(Conrad 86). Kurtz, at his final moment, comes to realize the implications of mortality, of the very death he had inflicted on countless others, and the life which had been fundamentally fake, hollow, and hypocritical. Meanwhile, Marlow upholds a much more pragmatic view, at least in the beginning. He witnesses countless atrocities and deaths on the way to Kurtz, but ascribes them either to European negligence or to the great, sombre, supernatural wilderness and does not think of them too much. Upon his meeting of Kurtz, and witnessing of his death, Marlow comes to realize that “Droll thing life is – that mysterious arrangement of merciless logic for a futile purpose. The most you can hope from it is a knowledge of yourself…I have wrestled with death. It takes place in an impalpable greyness….if such is the form of ultimate wisdom, then life is a greater riddle than some of us think it to be” (Conrad 87). This realization is central to the transformation that takes place in Marlow. In coming to terms with his own mortality through that of Kurtz, he becomes increasingly disillusioned and confused in a world that he used to see as black and white. Kurtz, stripped of all his dignity and power and laid bare to die before Marlow, ends up with “nothing to say.” For all his substance, Kurtz leaves Marlow with nothing but the vague realization of past horrors and “sham distinction,” leaving the latter empty and confused upon his return to Europe. Essentially, Marlow experiences a kind of reverse transformation. Although he is initially clear-minded, he conspires to preserve Kurtz’s legacy and “immortality” after the latter’s death, lying to Kurtz’s fiancée of his dying words (Conrad 97). With Marlow’s perceptions altered, the narrator’s own understanding changes, leading to the realization that England itself is a “heart of darkness” and that misunderstanding of mortality is rampant.

A very different, more romantic, kind of transformation takes place in characters in For Whom the Bell Tolls. With the crushing sense of death, each character reflects extensively on their own life, conveying their attitudes through internal dialogue. Robert Jordan, in the beginning, is completely unconcerned with death. However, upon meeting Maria, Jordan’s attitude begins to change, especially as he realizes that he has very little time left to live, and [6] that “[he] must concentrate all that which [he] should always have into the short time that [he has] it”(Hemingway 176). The night before the battle, Robert Jordan contemplates the case of his grandfather, who fought bravely in the Civil War, and of his father, who was a coward and committed suicide. Through this reflection, he finally comes to terms with himself and his mortality, ending his inner conflict and deciding that “he himself was nothing. And he knew death was nothing. In the last few days he had learned that he himself, with another person, could be everything” (Hemingway 410). Up to his last moments, Robert Jordan considers suicide, but ultimately rejects it (Hemingway 485-490), evidently deciding that he is of value to the Republic up unto his last breath and he has to make use of all the time that he has. Different characters react to death in all sorts of different ways. Finito, Pilar’s former lover, was constantly afraid of death, but courageous for always dealing with it (Hemingway 190-195). Pablo, although brave in the beginning from Pilar’s story (Hemingway 106-130) is increasingly fearful and cowardly, unable to face death. Others, such as Lieutenant Berrendo and Anselmo, are compassionate and turn to religion. Kashkin, Jordan’s predecessor, was too afraid in his life, and asked to have his own death taken (Hemingway 70). The narrator’s tone conveys a strong opinion on duty and death. For example, Andre Marty, the ignorant, arrogant, and self-centered communist leader, is described as having a face that “looked as though it had been modeled from the waste material you find under the claws of a very old lion”(Hemingway 434) and Robert Jordan’s emotional and cowardly father has a “moist” moustache and “damp” eyes (Hemingway 423). By negatively portraying cowardice and lack of commitment, the narrator takes a definite stance – The personal qualities, attitudes, and reactions of Robert Jordan, which include an unwavering commitment to duty despite death, rejection of suicide, and value placed on quality rather than quantity of time, are the most valuable in the face of mortality.

Slaughterhouse-Five presents an interesting duality between two reactions to death. The first, the human one, appears to deal with the process itself. This portrayal ultimately concurs with that in Heart of Darkness – death is everywhere. Everyone will die. One of Kilgore Trout’s stories tells of a time-traveler who travels back to Jesus’ crucifixion to find out that he does, in fact die, and that his height is “five feet and three inches and a half”(Vonnegut 203-204). That story is a simplified meta-narrative that represents Billy Pilgrim’s own journey – he comes to realize, by traveling through time, that death is universal, unforgiving, and unavoidable. The signature phrase “So it goes” must repeat itself countless times, following all deaths from that of champagne to that of the Son of God. The reaction of Billy Pilgrim, then, is one of serene and passive acceptance, as he even has the events of his own death recorded on a tape which is placed in a safe-box. He realizes[7] that “among the things that [he] could not change were the past, the present, and the future” (Vonnegut 60). The second concept of death presented is that of the Tralfamadorians, who reject the notion altogether, basically ignoring any implications. They experience death as one would experience looking at a photo album, pausing to look at the nice ones but skipping the unpleasant pictures. In accordance with the Tralfamadorian philosophy, and, truly, living life the most Tralfamadorian way possible, Billy Pilgrim does not fret over his death and serenely allows its coming. Later in his life, he begins to lecture in an effort to pass on the message, talking of “the negligibility of death, and the passing of time” (Vonnegut 190). Meanwhile, the author-narrator comes to grapple with his own mortality hinting that the Tralfamadorian way of coming to terms with mortality is not the correct one, especially because, while death is unavoidable, it is also significant, and requires reflection. In a single case, he fails to repeat “So it goes,” instead saying that “Nathan, according to the Earthling concept of time, had died back in 1958. According to the Tralfamadorian concept, of course, he is still alive somewhere and always would be” (Vonnegut 199). The narrator at least partially subscribes to such a point of view and considers it; he is thankful for the nice moments he has been left with and can later access (Vonnegut 211). But at the end of the day, people are left not only with the beautiful moments, but the ones that they regret, want to forget, and realize that they must come to terms with. As the bird, a harmless spectator asks “Poo-tee-twoot?” sometimes the only thing that can be done is to accept and attempt to understand the death and tragedy that come naturally and unavoidably.

Through these techniques and themes, the novels do not entirely reject free will, but rather portray a world in which people have only limited control over their own lives. There is not much to say about a life that one cannot affect in any way. However, it is clear that every person’s life is controlled by greater forces that they cannot control, especially mortality. [8] The inevitability of death forces a person to consider their own actions and values in a different light. Upon witnessing Kurtz’s demise, Marlow becomes deeply disillusioned and has great difficulty returning to the “petty” life of Europeans, as he is thoroughly obsessed with carrying on Kurtz’s legacy. Faced with the assurance of an early death, Robert Jordan reconsiders his ability to love and his perception of time. And the [9] perennial push-over, Billy Pilgrim, stumbles through his life and time to gain the serenity to accept the things he cannot change, gaining incredible and unique perspective on his existence. None of these characters end up as Billy’s mother, who manages to croak out the tragic ultimate question on her deathbed: “How did I get so old?” As John Yossarian comes to realize at the “end” of Catch-22, “Ripeness is all.” As a fruit cannot stay ripe, life must end eventually, and men must gain acceptance to this so they can live the right way before it does.

Thus, human existence is doomed to be finite. From birth, the lives of individuals are strongly molded by external forces from without and their own characters from within, ending with the final ultimatum of death. Sometimes death unexpected or even welcomed, but for many, it is contemplated, awaited, agonized over for years. And through this the question arises: If so much of a person’s life is determined by other forces, what is left? Where can humans find their own existential sanctuary? The epithet that gives Billy Pilgrim strength reminds him to “accept the things he cannot change” and “change those that he can.” Just like him, we must all come to accept what we cannot change, and live life to the fullest in the ways that we can.

 

The Magic Mountain, Chapters 1 – 3

I spotted this novel in my European history textbook, in which it was described as a work set “within a Swiss sanatorium, where everyone is ill and where tubercular characters from all parts of Europe debate the flawed traditions of Western civilization.” Considering it an interesting topic, I kept the memory of the novel stowed away for almost a year before finally “taking the plunge” into the formidable 730 -page book. The topic of this analysis/reflection is chapters 1 and 2. This is a work in translation; although the novel has undoubtedly lost much of its former beauty (as the meticulous translators emphasize) there are many broader philosophical currents that are retained in the text.

One of the primary elements of the novel so far is the distinct sense of setting and also the odd treatment of time. The mountains, literally as well as figuratively, shelter and separate the sanatorium from the world – The protagonist Hans Castorp’s cousin Joachim tells a tale of a young girl who came to the sanatorium and never saw the outside world again. Moreover, the narrator explains that “Now and then Joachim’s face would cloud over and he would remember his lot”(Mann 15).  The main doctor, Krokowski, is described as being “unusually pale, of a translucent, yes, phosphorescent pallor…”and tells Castor, “I have never in my life come across a perfectly healthy human being. “(16) Time is also important in establishing setting.  Joachim, in introducing the sanatorium to Castorp, repeats that time flows in a different manner in the sanatorium:

“‘They make pretty free with a human being’s idea of time, up here. You wouldn’t believe it. Three weeks are just like a day to them. You’ll learn all about it,’ he said, and added: ‘One’s ideas get changed.'”

The novel is intended (at least partly) as an allegory and I’m beginning to get a sense of how that works. Hans Castorp represents European upper bourgeoisie at a cross-roads with custom and breaking from tradition; Castorp’s grandfather (the object of his reminiscing) represents the old reactionary forces in Europe; and Settembrini, an Italian liberal, represents modern undercurrents in European society.

Settembrini is certainly an interesting character and deserves some analysis. He has very strong ideas and expounds himself as a “humanist.” A few quotations (partly for my own later use):

“I hope, Engineer, you have nothing against malice? In my eyes, it is reason’s keenest dart against the powers of darkness and ugliness. Malice, my dear sir, is the animating spirit of criticism and enlightenment”(61-62).

“We humanists have all of us a pedagogic itch. Humanism and schoolmaster – there is a historical connexion between them, and it rests upon psychological fact: the office of the schoolmaster should not – and cannot- be taken from the humanist for the tradition of the beauty and dignity of man rests in his hands”(64).

Meanwhile, Castorp, only a few days into sanatorium life (he is on a temporary visit) begins to philosophize about time(although not too seriously yet) and get accustomed to some of the other characters. A slight tension is growing between him and a Russian woman, Madame Chauchat (an unrefined aristocrat), which may turn out to be interesting.

Notes from Underground – Response #3

At this point in the story, The Underground Man joins in with his “friends,” Simonov, Ferfichkin, Trudolyubov, and Zverkov, for dinner. He arrives an hour early by accident, and remains there awkwardly and nervously. Strangely, he acts as if he WANTS to be hostile without any good reason. When the others arrive, he says that “I was, for the first moment, so overjoyed to see them, as though they were some kind of liberators, and I almost forgot that I was supposed to look hurt.” He does not enjoy his time with the guests, wondering whether it’s even possible for Zverkov not to act condescendingly towards him. Additionally, he drunkenly challenges Ferfichkin to a duel, seemingly to just antagonize the others further. As the others play cards, the Underground Man simply paces by himself, just to make the situation more uncomfortable. He appears to thrive on this, on ruining every social situation he is involved in.

Afterwards, he goes off to a brothel where he meets a prostitute named Liza. The Underground Man delivers an impassioned speech telling her of how her work has degraded and marginalized her. Liza is left sobbing. However, the speech appears to be nothing but a power game – he is attempting to gain control over her. When Liza apparently falls for him and comes to his house, he shoos her out and forces money into her hand, ASSERTING that she is, and always will be, inferior and manipulated. He feels a strange rush of self-loathing, yet energy, for this action. When Liza shows him a love letter she had received, instead of feeling happiness on her part (which would seem natural in such a ‘romantic situation’) he feels only hidden jealousy and contempt.

In the meantime, after visiting Liza in the brothel and awaiting her visit at his house, another example of this domination-struggle takes place. The Underground Man professes to extreme dislike of his servant, Apollon. He considers him disobedient; but with the extremely unreliable narrator that The Underground Man is, we can safely assume that he is probably not so terrible, but the former is simply bitter that while he pays the wages, he cannot exert complete dominion over his servant.

The ultimate climax is when the Liza comes to visit the Underground Man. He feels extremely conscious of his meager surroundings and suddenly, feels weakened and subservient before her, especially as Apollon is disobeying him. The roles reversed, he sputters out a speech to Liza about how he intended completely to manipulate and humiliate her, with his ultimate gesture being to force money into her hand, despite the fact that she had, unlike anyone else, showed genuine sympathy and kindness towards him. After she leaves, he tells himself that she will eventually come to see her encounter with him as elevating and “lofty.”

The novel ends with a strong statement to the audience – that they are all like him but afraid to live like it. The Underground Man is unable to connect socially or emotionally, on any level other than in a masochistic domination-submission style interaction. He attempts to dominate and manipulate those around him (unsuccessfully) and is fully alienated from modern society. These are clear undercurrents in 20th century literature.

From here on, I move to finishing Crime and Punishment which features a very similar character, and then to The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann.

Notes from Underground, Part #2a

This half of Notes from Underground is a novella, titled On Account of the Wet Snow. This half is markedly different from the first in that it shifts from the Underground Man’s personal ramblings to his interactions in the rest of the world. Plot-wise, there are several important events, of which here are the first two:

1) The Underground Man is pushed aside by a much taller and stronger army officer in a tavern. He takes considerable offense to this, yet is unable to retaliate. He then hatches an elaborate plan to spend what little money he has on expensive and fashionable clothing (including, notably, a German beaver fur-coat) and begins to follow the officer around at the Nevsky park, which the latter frequents. The Underground Man then finally achieves a victory when he clashes with the officer, shoulder-to-shoulder, showing that he is just as important, despite the physical injury that he ends up sustaining. This is a desperate, failed, paranoid, and pathetic attempt at social justice, and I suspect that it might even be a sort of parody. The Underground Man discusses at length a distinction between the “European” and “Russian” Romantic, coming to the conclusion that “the nature of our romantic is to understand everything, to see everything and often to see incomparably more clearly than the most positivistic minds, never to compromise anything…”(pg 44). Thus, perhaps, this struggle with the officer was a failed attempt at being a romantic,  solidifying the novel’s contradiction of the philosophy. The book also seems to have a strong anti-European message. Aside from criticizing European literature, the Underground Man derides his “cheap German beaver-fur coat” and calls the city of St. Petersburg, strongly influenced by Europe at the time, to be “intentional and abstract.”

2) The Underground Man, unsurprisingly, admits to having very few friends. After several months of keeping to himself and dreaming of love and beauty, imagining himself to feel like a hero. He  then feels an urge to return to society. He goes to visit Simonov, a co-worker and former friend, finding that they are planning a farewell for an officer, Zverkov (Another opportunity is taken to criticize European pretensions, as he is referred to as ” ‘Monsewer’ Zverkov. Although Zverkov was extremely popular as an adolescent, the Underground Man hated him then for artificiality, arrogance, and pretension. He tells of his own life as a child, mentioning that despite high grades and potential for success, he quit out of the special service and took on a low-level career as a clerk.  He speaks of being tormented by dreams from his childhood, when he was socially isolated and seemed to only understand social interaction as a sort of domination game – he says that, to his only friend, he “was a despot…[he] wanted to have unlimited control over his soul”(pg 65). As such, it can be concluded that he has a very abnormal conception of society and social relationships. He even appears to desire acceptance from those who he hates most – he fantasizes of being friends with Zverkov.

The Underground Man joins the dinner (despite not being wanted there), which he realizes immediately, and suddenly becomes extremely self-conscious.

Paragraph on The Boston Evening Transcript

In TS Eliot’s “The Boston Evening Transcript,” exposition and external dialogue stand in stark contrast, exemplifying how powerful cynicism is easily hidden in regular life under a cloak of artificiality. The opposition between the speaker’s actual ideas and the manner in which he communicates them to others is marked by a tone shift in the final line of the poem. Prior to this, the speaker describes the readers of the Boston Evening Transcript in a condescending and negative tone. He uses simile and metaphor to liken them to a field of ripe corn swaying the wind. This example characterizes them not only as homogenous and uninteresting but as easily influenced, bereft of independent thought. He goes further to imply that they lack vitality, contrasting the readers to those whose “appetite of life” is wakened in the evening. Additionally, as the speaker goes to his cousin Harriet’s  apartment to bring him a copy, he feels “weary.” However, the manner in which the speaker then addresses Cousin Harriet in external dialogue is quite the opposite. The tone shifts to bright and unhurried. No contractions are employed, and the speaker states the recipient’s name at the beginning of the dialogue, creating the sense that he is being conversational. In this radical tone shift, the inner thoughts and external dialogue of the speaker are sharply contrasted. The speaker’s cynical attitude is hidden away from others, and his words clearly do not match his true thoughts, showing his hypocrisy. Through this snapshot of regular human interaction, TS Eliot strongly emphasizes the common artificiality and even dishonesty of everyday life.

Notes From Underground – Part 1

Currently I am in the process of reading Notes from Underground by Fyodor Dostoevsky as a segue into some of his longer works that I would like to have a go at some time soon, mainly Crime and Punishment and The Brothers Karamazov. Notes is a short, two-part novel told from the perspective of an alienated and rambling “Underground Man”, who harbors deep disillusions about the world around him.

This post will focus exclusively on the first part of the novel, while is 39 pages long and is titled “The Underground” –

This section deals extensively with the concepts of human significance, free will, and utilitarianism. I did a little bit of research on the book before-hand and found out that it is considered the “first existential novel” and an important precursor to all 20th century philosophy.

Most notably, the Underground Man rejects positivism and liberalism, prevailing Western philosophies of the age. He focuses on several key points:

– “Man needs only and exclusively and independent wanting, whatever this independence may cost or where it may lead”(25).

– “If, for instance, they calculate and prove to me that if I thumbed down my nose at such-and-such it was precisely because I could not have done otherwise, and it had to be done with this very finger, then what is left in me that is free…?”(26)

Man is willing to defy logic, rationality, and “the greater good” in order to assert his own independence and free will. Although advanced civilization promotes those virtues, it simultaneously and inadvertently leads to irrationality and disorder, as shown by the increasingly bloody conflicts taking place in the 19th century. Scientific and philosophical doctrines of liberalism and positivism, through their increasing rationalization of the world around them, destroy man’s creativity and freedom.

He also conjectures  that:

“Possibly  man does nothing but search for this two times two makes four, crosses the oceans, gives his life in this search, but to find it, to really discover it – he is somehow afraid, so help me God”(32).

Humans are perhaps most caught up in the process of progress and development and afraid of its implications. They are afraid that when their illusion of free will is taken away from them by their own doing, they will have nothing left. He concludes that “…two times two makes four is a wonderful thing; but if we are to praise everything, then two times two makes five is sometimes a delightful little thing.” This concept is one that is revisited time and time again in 20th century thought, most obviously Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four.

Lastly, an idea I particularly liked was “Suffering – why, after all, it is the sole cause of consciousness.” As masochistic as it sounds, this is one of the reasons I run – through all of the pain and sacrifice of the sport, it makes you feel intensely alive.

Otherwise, I am glad for having read this novel because it gives me some fantastic perspective on the discussion of Slaughterhouse Five and will surely aid me in my understanding of modernist, post-modernist, and existentialist works.