My Last Post on Death -- I Swear.

For the sake of my computer charger dying today... I will be brief.

We've been talking a ton about death in the last few weeks in all of my classes, Philosophy and American Lit, and I feel just genuinely relaying my experiences with it first hand.

In 2009, my dad was taken to the hospital with major pain just two days after my birthday, only a week after I became engaged to my now-husband, and diagnosed with colon cancer just three days later -- on Christmas morning, without his family even being there (doctors told him that morning, before visiting hours).  He went through several rounds of chemo, years of treatment, and in Winter of 2012, became ill with an obstruction in the bile duct within his liver.  After a few failed surgeries to relieve the blockage, Dad was brought home for home hospice, and passed away on March 8, 2013.

There have been deaths in my family, but nothing significantly close to me -- my maternal grandparents were gone well before I was born, my paternal grandfather died just after I was born and before I was old enough to even remember him, and my paternal grandmother died just before my dad after spending 20 years or so with severe Alzheimers (she hadn't remembered me in years, so it felt as if she was already gone).  Dad was different -- it was close, it was raw, and it was for a lack of better words, incredibly strange.

I'm not a severely emotional person.  I maintain the ability to really detach myself where necessary, and in order to help my family get through things, I stayed pretty rational in it all.  I view death as the inevitability it is, but I think I probably also approached it all with some hefty skepticism, disbelief, and a true inability to process its immediacy.  When it happened, we were there with him, and being in the room as someone's spirit leaves them (or consciousness, or whatever you choose to believe -- to be honest I'm not real sure myself of this), it's just an odd feeling.

No one is ever really there with you when it happens.  They are physical there, I guess, but the experience is so uniquely individual, so incomprehensible, that it's no wonder people have basically feared it since the dawn of Man.  I don't know that it's entirely warranted fear, but then again I am speaking from the perspective of a young person who feels just so far away from it.  They say "no Man is an Island," and I guess there are a lot of places that applies -- but for me, not so in death.  As far as others that are humans, we really might be alone.  That is, unless there is a 'third who walks beside us' (as the Biblical reference goes, as the resurrected Jesus walks unknown beside his disciples without detection) and guides us through it all.  But, I guess we'll all find out when it's our turn to meet Death with our own dignities, fears, reflections.

I don't really have a point here.  Just wanted to share with you my most emotional, and irrational thoughts.  Looking forward to tomorrow's final book discussion, and then moving on into Identity!

Some Thoughts on the Concept of Death

...

What do you think has become of the young and old men?

What do you think has become of the women and

          children?

They are alive and well somewhere;

The smallest sprouts show there is really no death,

And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait

          at the end to arrest it,

And ceased the moment life appeared.

All goes onward and outward... and nothing collapses,

And to die is different from what any one supposed, and 

          luckier.

from "A child said, what is the grass?" in Walt Whitman's A Song of Myself

I really love it when things going on in my different classes afford me some major and satisfying connection.  As my junior classes work through some Romantic poetry on their way to their first writing assignment of this school year, I've stumbled upon a new love and appreciation for the depth behind Whitman's words.  I remember studying Whitman in high school, and disliking the entire concept of the Romantic movement, especially the Transcendentalists - I found it boring, unappealing, and way too touchy-feely for my very "intellectually-driven" and detached self.  What an idiot I find myself to have been, in hindsight.  I, very much like a character or two in the final novel we'll read in my Philosophy in Lit classes (Huxley's Point Counter Point) failed to appreciate the full gamut of perspectives and interpretations and aspects of what it is to be living -- choosing one (intellect) over the other (feeling) as the more superior mode.  I didn't realize then, what I do now, which is that (as Huxley also says in his last novel, Island, the answer to the issues of P.C.P.) "nothing short of everything will really do."

Today in analyzing the above poem, this final selection really struck me as relevant to our current readings in Out of the Silent Planet -- in the poem, Whitman begins with a discussion about the nature of 'grass' as asked by an innocent, curious child. He then begins to postulate an answer, beginning with short statements of connection -- as a sign of God's existence, as the produce of vegetation, as a reflection of his own feelings, etc. -- and then spends the bulk of his time further ruminating on the idea that strikes him: "And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves."

While death seems to us, most of the time, the greatest evil or wrong to mankind's existence, the inhibitor of flourishing, the limitation upon an infinite mind, the highest of all fears (especially in its inevitably) -- Whitman shows it need not be.  He, in essence, calls it the "Great Equalizer" in its ability to "give them the same" and "receive them the same" as the grass of the graves cover all kinds of beings -- great young men, old people, women, children "taken soon out of their mother's laps" and yet nature then becomes itself "the mother's laps." He goes on to give this, though, a hopeful tone  saying that these thoughts and those deaths are not "for nothing," that those beings are "alive and well somewhere."  And while it may seem like he's advocating for some sort of supernatural metaphysical realm here, I don't think that's what he's entirely going for.  If we continue with the end (as given above), there seems to be this kind of "circle of life" reference, as we remember that here he is talking to almost a personified idea of grass, a stand-in for 'Mother' Nature, itself a real, tangible, experiential thing -- not some unknown beyond.  Thus, death for him is always "led forward life" and death "ceased the moment life appeared" as all "goes onward and outward."  Thus, he concludes, "nothing collapses" and he claims that death is something very contrary to our conception of it -- it is not an ending, something to be feared, but rather the final comfort and long rest to a weariness at the end of an individuals life's trials; and yet, life continues on as things grow from it and change from it and never cease to continue (links to the text of the poem can be accessed here, if you're interested).

C.S. Lewis also enlightens us to a different view of death in Out of the Silent Planet, in chapter 19, when the hrossa bring Hyoi (shot by Devine and Weston in an earlier chapter, generally out of their own fear of other life forms on this planet - again, fear at the root) to Oyarsa to receive his final rites:

     "And now," said Oyarsa, when silence was restored, "let us honor my dead hnau."

     At his words ten of the hrossa grouped themselves about the biers. Lifting their heads, and with no signal as far as Ransom could see, they began to sing.

     ...

     "Let it go hence," they sang. "Let it go hence, dissolve and be no body. Drop it, release it, drop it gently, as a stone is loosed from the fingers drooping over a still pool. Let it go down, sink, far away. Once below the surface there are no divisions, no layers in the water, yielding all the way down; all one and all unwounded is that elements. Send it voyaging where it will not come again. Let it go down; the hnau rises from it. This is the second life, the other beginning. Open, oh coloured world, without weight, without shore. You are second and better; this was first and feeble. Once the worlds were hot within and brought forth life, but only the pale plants, the dark plants. We see their children when they grow to-day, out of the sun's light in the sad places. After the heaven made grow another kind on worlds: the high climbers, the bright-haired forests, cheeks of flowers. First were the darker, then the brighter. First was the worlds' blood, then the suns' blood."

     This was as much of it as he contrived later to remember and could translate. As the song ended Oyarsa said:

     "Let us scatter the movements which were their bodies. So will Maleldil scatter all worlds when the first and feeble is worn."

     He made a sign to one of the pfifltriggi, who instantly arose and approached the corpses. The hrossa, now singing again but very softly, drew back at least ten paces. The pfifltrigg touched each of the three ear in turn with some small object that appeared to be made of glass or crystal -- and then jumped away with one of his frog-like leaps. Ransom closed his eyes to protect them from a blinding light and felt something like a very strong wind blowing in his face, for a fraction of a second. Then all was calm again, and the three biers were empty...

It is no secret that much of the beauty of the world, and the response to that beauty, for C.S. Lewis lies in the idea of music -- it is how the world of Narnia begins, it is the important way to translate the stories and mythos and meanings to all the major issues in his books, it is that art which naturally binds us to existence and natural reality. It seems fitting that music should be the way in which the hrossa and by extension all participating creatures here on Malacandra react to the end of life, as it was in the beginning.  The metaphysic expressed in the song talks of this as the 'first life' the 'feeble' life that is then replaced by the second, better life everlasting (expressing C.S. Lewis' view of the afterlife, clearly connecting to his theism) and yet what I think is most impressive about the whole thing is the ending here.  As it is expressed earlier, after the killing of the hnakra, death is only something dealt out by the ruler of the world (their near-equivalent to an archangel), Oyarsa -- not by other hnau ('sentient beings' or 'persons').  So here is the showing of such, in which the body, the matter tied to the imperfect 'feeble' world, is removed, and the strong light and the wind that blows across Ransom's face signals the point of departure of soul and body -- one almost wonders if Hyoi becomes and eldil at this point, if that is even what the eldil are. There is a definite touch of mystery, of magic and the unexplainable, but in a positive way -- no fear here. 

So we see two competing metaphysical views of death -- the naturalism of Whitman, and the spiritualism/theism of Lewis -- no less positive, either one, and both quite beautiful in their own way. The key to both views is that absence of fear, the trust that there isn't a 'nothingness' that follows death, whether it be the human's fulfillment as a natural object of earth returning back to the cycle of life of that earth, or whether it be the promise of a second and better reality beyond it -- in the Christian sense, the undoing of death and the promise of "life everlasting." That nothingness, the idea of insignificance of life, the lack of fulfilled purpose I believe are really at the heart of what makes death a scary thing for us (though I would contend many believe that nothing of these things are reason for fear, either).  It has become a natural instinct to want to extend life, be it through our own personal extension or through that of the entire species, and may be the root of the fear itself.  In fact, as we get through the rest of these chapters of Out of the Silent Planet, Weston stands himself upon the platform and preaches for the idea of human extension as the goal of not only his small movement for Malacandra, but of the entire human race -- thus, giving credence and justification to the actions he's used as a means of ensuring that transcendent survival of humanity.  Without that fear, death is not something that needs to be fled; it isn't something that strikes fear, and thus condones the use of violence, immoral means, and justifies stupidity.  I often wonder what it would be to live in a place where that's a thing -- and while I don't think we can entirely erase the 'fight or flight' response so embedded in our evolutionary makeup, I do think we can take steps to rationally (and emotionally) engage LIFE from a different perspective, of higher value and awareness, in which the necessity for fearing death is less the focus than the need to invigorate that life we do have.

Just some thoughts from me before we head into the weekend.  Have a great one! Please feel free to comment and respond! I'd love to hear perspectives on this!

Pointing Out the Naiveté of Man's Need for Hierarchical Power: Out of the Silent Planet, chapter 14

 ... Was Oyarsa a god? -- perhaps that very idol to whom the sorns wanted to sacrifice him. But the hrossa, though they said strange things about him, clearly denied that he was a god. There was one God, according to them, Maleldil the Young; nor was it possible to imagine Hyoi or Hnohra worshipping a bloodstained idol. Unless, of course, the hrossa were after all under the thumb of the sorns, superior to their masters in all the qualities that human beings value, but intellectually inferior to them and dependent on them. It would be a strange but not an inconceivable world; heroism and poetry at the bottom, cold scientific intellect above it, and overtopping all some dark superstition which scientific intellect, helpless against the revenge of the emotional depths it had ignored, had neither will nor power to remove....

Out of the Silent Planet by C.S. Lewis, Chapter 14 (page 86)

What Ransom expresses here is by no means at all foreign feelings; here, he expresses a general fear of the unknown as he has experienced throughout the many different encounters of the book, and a general questioning of the structure of belief upon the planet of Malacandra.  And to be fair, as a philologist, it's really no wonder he expressed the views he does.  If one were to approach the names involved here -- specifically "Malacandra" and "Maleldil" -- it makes good human sense. From even basic understanding of Latin and Greek etymology, we learn that "mal-, male-" translates to incredibly negative connotation, as "bad," "abnormal," "wrongful," "ill," etc.  Assuming that this is common knowledge for someone of Ransom's academic caliber, I feel it's understandable for him to approach the entire world and all of its contents here with such caution throughout the book.  So, I'll at least give him some credit and leniency on his weariness -- well, for a moment.

At the same time, he has now spent a considerable amount of time learning not just the language, but the culture, economics, politics, and environment of the hrossa which he seems to have developed a strong bond with and appreciation for.  And yet in all of his time breaking the barriers of his distinctly human thought, upon leaving the hrossa he dumbly (yes, I'm judging him some here) returns to those same base assumptions.  He does the dumbly human thing of egocentrically applying human understanding, convention, and definition to everything he further contemplates about the structures of Malacandra.

I'll go ahead and break this down in parts. His initial question regarding the nature of Oyarsa's being, and particularly the sorn's relation to it, goes back to an even more primal and base instinct than anything which (I'm guessing) Ransom himself would have ever experienced -- he makes reference to tribal custom of human sacrifice, to the gods in particular. It is this thought which is his first response to the purpose or design the sorns have for him -- and note that it is not one that typically requires high sophistication, or intelligence, or civilized behavior.  It is something that he would likely deem as 'lesser human,' something already left behind in his more 'civilized' world, something in which only ignoble humans partake.  Here, without much thought, he continues to place his own understanding, his own culture, as dominant.

He then continues to question the nature of Oyarsa, and then specifically moves on to Maleldil, which he equates with the human understanding of God (note that he never really approaches from a perspective outside of that -- never asking if our conception of God is even the right one, or a good one at that). But, he does distinctly allude here (as this is C.S. Lewis, of course, and is familiar with his own works) to the Manicheism, the Dualism, that Lewis debunks in his Mere Christianity (something which even he admits is a tempting and 'manly' theory, but nevertheless goes on to show as insufficient).  He does this here in stating his disbelief that the hrossa -- especially the two he is most familiar with and dare I say 'friends' with -- would worship something/someone that is a "bloodstained idol." Inherent in this statement is that dualistic contention between Good Being and Evil Being, even a throwback to Descartes' experiment in epistemological doubt which gets him to the point of "I Think; Therefore, I Am." (In working backwards to what he can actually state as true here, Descartes questions if God is good, saying he could very much be malevolent and thus all of our experience is just an allusion due to his trickery). Ransom then comes to the conclusion that it can't be possible for his 'friends' to worship such a God, dispelling the idea and thus attaching to Maleldil the same intentions we do to our own conceptions of God (I'm sure it is C.S. Lewis' point to do this, to make some comment that the Malacandrian idea of Maleldil is the exact same as the human conception of God, and that we're just putting two names to the same phenomena... but I'll save that argument and issue for another day). Again, this is an incredibly egocentric thing to do, as he looks for a way to attach and explain everything in a human way, without every questioning whether it's possible (or, for better discussion ethically right) for him to do so.

His most egregious misstep comes in soon after, in looking at the structure of Malacandrian society.  As will become clear when he does finally reach his destination, Meldilorn, there are three distinct sentient, conscious, peoples (or beings, or species, though for me here, I think those three things all mean the same thing). Yet, for Ransom, the immediate and unquestioned assumption is that those three peoples must have some kind of hierarchical structure, and of course he places human value in the equation in order to assign what he believes to be that order; in dealing with the two (well, three including those which are not physical beings, but the eldila and the "gods" here as well) species he knows, he of course assigns the pacifist, crafty, nature-y, artsy hrossa as he says "under the thumbs" of the sorns; he (as an intellectual himself) assumes that intellectual prowess puts them at the top of the physical hierarchy, subordinate only to those spiritual beings of the planet.

I must back up a bit and address something weird he says, though.  He claims that the hrossa are "superior to their masters in all the qualities that human beings value" (in speaking of their position to the sorns) and yet I have a hard time understanding what qualities he means.  Does he mean in their ideas of art? Their philosophical understandings of death? In their concepts of value and worth? Of stoic detachment? In their seemingly superior physical prowess or crafting ability? I have to seriously disagree with him here.  I don't know too many places where these values are dominantly seen as "qualities human beings value" or at least value moreso than the ones which he attaches to the sorn in devaluing in the hrossa as namely "intellectual inferior" and "dependent." If you look at any definition of what makes humans superior species -- be it from ancient times, or more modern, scientific conceptions -- definitions almost always hinge on the idea of superior consciousness, intellect, and independence of will, all of which he's attaching here to the sorn as ranked superior to the hrossa.  While I believe humans think those qualities of the hrossa are noble (and I think should be given more credence than they are, as Ransom I believe correctly points out here), I just don't buy his understanding here. Even chapters later this is refuted, when Weston attaches his own personal views of human intellect above all the species he has met on Malacandra, blindly and foolishly believing in his own intellectual dominance over some of those same kinds of qualities.

What he cannot see in all this, is that his attachment to human constructs and definitions severely limits the open-mindedness he needs in order to truly get a picture of Malacandra -- which, unlike Earth, has a society of peoples who are of different groups, even so far as different species that function far outside the human idea of power, hierarchy, and control.  He fails to realize that things of difference can exist on the same plane, without need to be dominant over each other, or defined in such a way. In fact, defining it in that way would severely diminish the effectiveness of the balance inherent to the Malacandrian way.  Each group provides a necessary and important function, and no function is deemed as more important than any other.  I know this is kind of 'pie-in-the-sky' in terms of vision, especially if you apply it to Earth where only one sentient being exists (well, as far as we as humans define it, again there's that geocentricism), but what a nice idea -- valuing things that aren't just what make us "better" than other beings.  Luckily, Ransom's ignorance here is far overshadowed by the really ignorant, naive, and down-right stupid views that Weston's close-mindedness expresses later on, so he'll eventually get the free-pass as the most intelligent human on Malacandra :)

On Marcus Aurelius and Stoicism

Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact. Everything we see is a perspective, not a truth.

Marcus Aurelius

We haven't covered him just yet, but at some point we'll see a little bit of Marcus Aurelius.  He's most known, philosophically, for his support of Stoicism -- a philosophy of life which espouses a genuine concern only for those things in our immediate control. And, if you really think about it, that is a pretty short list.  The school of philosophy itself (Stoicism) was originally founded by Zeno, who lived himself from about 334 to 262 BC, and was then joined by thinkers like Cicero, Epictetus, Seneca, and of course Marcus Aurelius.  The basis of the thought lies in happiness as a product of wisdom and control; its metaphysics lies in the idea that matter (going back to Aristotle's dichotomy of matter and form) is fundamental reality and is dynamic, changing, structured, and rationally ordered.  The core value is of reason, through which all knowledge can be derived and at which all truths can be arrived -- this is because "God" (not the Biblical version, but you get the point) rationally structures the world so as to be accessible by reason (created in 'logos' -- Greek for 'the word') and thus all nature is reflective of this principle.  However, as humans, despite the fact that we possess a formal element (or "spark of the divine" as the Stoics call it) that allows us to know those rational principles inherent to all things in the world, our freedom is also limited.  Because things are rationally ordered by God to fit rational principles, the Stoics fundamentally believed that things and events in life were determined, and thus humans could only respond (take an attitude or emotion toward) those things -- not impress upon, manipulate, change, or effect them. As a result, proper living and 'wisdom' lies in controlling only that which can be controlled -- the self and one's responses/reactions to those determined events of life -- and living according to those natural laws and rational principles placed in the world by "God" through logos.  

As an Ethic, a lot of times Stoicism is incredibly appealing -- it calls for persons to separate themselves from those things which are destined to be transient and inclined toward change.  If you think about it, there is so much we can't control about what goes on around us; we can't control the weather any given day (unfortunately... I'd probably make it snow at this point if I could, getting tired of this heat!), we can't control the way things decay and die, we can't control our own inevitable aging, we can't control how other people treat us, or perceive us (in many cases).  The only thing we can really control is to a limited degree our own health and bodily well-being (can't stop some disease and illness, can't stop the naturally trend toward death), and to a greater degree our mental processes, our thirst for knowledge, our reactions to those things beyond us, and our responses to our environment. So what better way to live than to mentally choose to place care in those things which we can control? In fact, there's something very Eastern about the Stoic view (I always love it when we find overlaps in East and West philosophies and cultures, as they develop so completely in isolation in both instances -- really proves something about either the idea of their truth, or about humanity in general).

What I find really interesting about the above quote by Marcus Aurelius is the fact of his own existence.  He makes an interesting advocate for Stoicism, particularly in the fact that -- in comparison to most -- there was quite a bit more that Aurelius could control.  Born in the year 121, Aurelius was the son of a wealthy family with a paternal history of political figures of influence.  He was educated at home through tutorages, as he was afforded advantages for his aristocratic station, and was well-versed in early philosophy. Long story short, he became connected to another political family, was adopted and added to a line of succession, made a consul, a co-ruler, and then finally (in 161) became the sole Emperor of the Roman Empire. As someone with the entire empire at his disposal, masses of wealth and fame and fortune, and power of course, it's interesting to me that he could retain a philosophy like Stoicism that places so little value on all of those things.  And perhaps, this is what made him effective -- because those things didn't matter so much to him, he could effectively do his job worrying about things that did matter, and got less caught up in the materialism of it all, in the fear of death and destruction, and so on.  

While his quote here isn't specifically concerning the dominant ideas of Stoicism as obviously, it's still clear that some elements of it are inherent to Aurelius' thought.  To say that all things heard (presumably as spoken by others) are opinions, and all things seen (by the individual in question) are perspective, is to suggest a type of subjectivism not really on the surface Stoic -- as said previously, Stoicism advocates for a natural order and deterministic vision for all things.  However, what his statement draws on is the inherent human element to both of those admissions -- opinion and perspective -- which necessarily stem from the individual and are things which only the individual can control.  So in this instance, those opinions I hear from others, are contingencies to their existence which I cannot control (as they are not a product of mine) in the same why that my own perceptions of the world are a contingency of my own existence which may not be trusted as they are limited purely to my one body, one mind, one experience.  Later philosophers will do something very much like this, and they're always super compelling to me -- at some point in the future we will venture in Heidegger (by extension, Hermeneutic philosophers like Gadamer), who basically argue that everything in our experience is filtered through a personal, individual, subjective perspective:

We are always already interpreting the world around us -- nothing we see/hear/etc. comes to us directly and raw.  It must filter through some kind of brain/thought system which puts it into some coherence.  This is why it is impossible for me to really know if you experience the same thing -- I cannot experience your brain, your thoughts, your experiences, and know for a fact they match mine. I can only trust that the language we've socially/culturally agreed upon does it enough justice to give us some type of shared experience.  This is why I always say, language is at once the most freeing thing (as it allows us a chance to have any sharing at all, since I can't do this by standing there and hoping you'll absorb it from me), and yet the most limiting thing (as I said, if we're already interpreting and that thought I have in the moment of experience is already an abstraction, then me talking about it through language is even further removed, not even second hand but third hand etc).  It's a very strange paradox.  

I'll leave you with that. I'll talk more about the language thing later, since it's my favorite philosophical concept :) Happy thinking!

Hyoi on Memory: Hidden Gem in Lewis' Commentary on Sexual Sin

In Out of the Silent Planet, Lewis makes many-a-comment on Christian themes, such as the concepts of holiness, virtue, the metaphysics of God and good and evil; however, there are little hidden gems that suggest a different type of metaphysic -- if you're really looking for them.  Often they are imbedded in commentary about one of the above Christian issues, but have much more fascinating implications (at least for someone like me, who sees Christian metaphysics as simply one possible lens of truth, which never tells a holistic enough story).

In chapter 12, Hyoi the Hross and Ransom, our main character, discuss many of the points of contention between the lifestyles of the hrossa on Malacandra and 'hman' on Earth (or as they call it, Thulcandra).  The major commentary being discussed is the idea of sexual monogamy, a conversation which reveals to Ransom the epiphany that man's sexual 'perversion' -- as he labels it -- is actually what he considers to be the unnatural of the two, in the end:

"Ransom pondered this. Here, unless Hyoi was deceiving him, was a species naturally continent, naturally monogamous. And yet, was it so strange? Some animals, he knew, had regular breeding seasons; and if nature could perform the miracle of turning the sexual impulse outward at all, why could she not go further and fix it, not morally but instinctively, to a single object? He even remembered dimly having heard that some terrestrial animals, some of the 'lower' animals, were naturally monogamous. Among the hrossa, anyway, it was obvious that unlimited breeding and promiscuity were as rare as the rarest perversions. At last it dawned upon him that it was not they, but his own species, that were the puzzle. That the hrossa should have such instincts was mildly surprising; but how came it that the instincts of the hrossa so closely resembled the unattained ideals of that far-divided species Man whose instincts were so deplorably different? What was the history of Man?..."

Hyoi goes on to tell him that "Maleldil" -- the Universal creator, or at least ruler as we have yet to discover more about the entity at this point in the book -- has "made [them] so" and ascribes rational reasons to it being so: "How could there ever be enough to eat if everyone had twenty young?" A sensible description about the economical resource of such a natural, instinctual trait of this type of monogamy.  He also rationalizes it from an emotional standpoint, asking, "...how could we endure to live and let time pass if we were always crying for one day or one year to come back...?"

Embedded in this discussion, thus far, is the idea of perverse desires -- of sin -- akin to much of Lewis' Christian opinions as explored in his essay, Mere Christianity. Of course it is at least well-known that Christianity espouses the position of monogamy -- 'till death do us part' -- and a particular position on the definition of marriage; this is clear from the way the church has backed legal defenses for the one man, one woman debate in recent challenges to marriage laws in the United States. It is also clear Biblically that sexual desires and acts be something shared only between married individuals after marriage rites have been secured, which means that sexual activity beyond that strict definition lies in the realm of 'sinful' behavior; thus, Ransom easily comes to the conclusion within the contrast here that the hrossa have attained -- quite naturally, contrary to the human condition - what man has sough as an unattainable 'ideal' as expressly preached by established (in his case, Christian) religion.

This could be an attempt for Lewis' to make social and ethical commentary, aiming to show the validity of the Christian notion of sexual sin, supporting the whole "you can't have your cake and eat it, too" cliche.  In fact, at the beginning of the conversation, he discusses man's tendencies for what sounds like obsession: "If a thing is a pleasure, a hman wants it again. He might want the pleasure more often than the number of young that could be fed," as if suggesting that the pleasure of the act of sex is the sin itself.  In fact he even almost tries to justify the idea of monogamy purely for the sake of reproduction, without the pleasure at all, citing what he calls 'lower animals' in the terrestrial world that do just that (for me, the only thing that comes to mind right now is penguins, but you get the point), as if sex for reproductive purposes alone can be divorced from the human pleasure -- and almost, seems to be suggested here, that it should be, in that the hrossa do it right in letting it be just that.

But somehow I feel a different pull personally in this discussion. I get that Lewis wants to address Christian themes and issues and ideals, and through apology legitimize them, but there seems to me something more fundamentally important than just the idea "you shouldn't have sex for pleasure all the time, especially outside of the realm of marriage laws."  Taken without the Christian apology, the following passage takes on more personal significance (as Hyoi here shares):

"A pleasure is full grown only when it is remembered. You are speaking, Hman, as if the pleasure were one thing and the memory another. It is all one thing. The séroni could say it better than I say it now. Not better than I could say it in a poem. What you call remembering is the last part of the pleasure, as the crab is the last part of a poem. When you and I met, the meeting itself was over very shortly, it was nothing. Now it is growing something as we remember it. But still we know very little about it. What it will be when I remember it as I lie down to die, what it makes in me all my days till then -- that is the real meeting. The other is only the beginning of it. You say you have poets in your world. Do they not teach you this?"

Again, Ransom (and mankind by extension) is made to look the uncivilized, unaware fool, but what Hyoi is saying seems to me more than just "don't have sex all the time for pleasure."  Instead, sex is just an example of one aspect humans are classically bad at -- drawing significance from the single event.  Hyoi talks about sex as an event of greater significance than just an act of pleasure -- and really, that's the key.  Not that the pleasure is a sin, but in over-indulging in it, as one over indulges in food over and over again, one diminishes the value of the pleasure -- the sin here, really, is gluttony.  And this seems far more fitting to me, and more significant to me, than the previous obvious interpretation, as it feels more true of humans -- we are classically bad at understanding the gravity, value, weight, of something until it's well behind us.  And instead of seeing it as an event that still continues to have value to us in the present, we ascribe the feeling of nostalgia, of regret, and sadness, that it is over and done.  We see life as images randomly placed in succession without any significant flow -- I blame Hume for this.  So Hyoi comments on the human inability to understand the idea that past events are not at all in the past, but rather things that continue to unfold and actually gain in significance as life continuously flows in time, not diminish as we tend to believe (because we attach the notion of human 'forgetfulness,' of self-doubt in our ability to remember accurately, in this belief that our thinking constantly warps the once 'true' event into something significantly less real).

I have issues with that thinking, as does Hyoi apparently.  We like to think that we experience something true, 'raw' we call it, only in the moment.  And that once that moment ends, memory becomes something lesser, and because of it, lower quality.  And yet, sometimes, it is only upon reflection, oftentimes when events are coupled together and time has elapsed, that 'hindsight' gives us the real significance of that moment.  What the hrossa are espousing here is that the event and the memory of the event cannot be divorced from each other, or taken in isolation -- that they are inherently valuable only when in fluidity.  I love this interpretation.  Because, really, if anyone wants to argue that the event is the only important thing, and that all time beyond it is less significant, we miss such a massive chunk of existence.  (And, from a more Heideggarian perspective, it fails to realize that we never truly experience anything really in the raw anyway -- we're always already interpreting the world, through our own particularities and biases, and so the present is always a memory instantly anyway...)

This view is perpetuated in the end of the chapter as they relate the discussion of sex to the idea of evil; Ransom brings up the issue of the hnakra -- a creature which is often responsible for hrossa deaths and which Ransom implicitly suggests is an evil which he says Maleldil has "let in" to the world (a reference akin to the idea Lewis explains in detail in Book 2 of Mere Christianity for the 'problem of evil').  Hyoi explains the difference in evil, here:

"I long to kill this hnakra as he also longs to kill me. I hope that my ship will be the first and I first in my ship with my straight spear when the black jaws snap. and if he kills me, my people will mourn and my brothers will desire still more to kill him. But they will not wish that there were no hnéraki; nor do I. How can I make you understand, when you do not understand the poets? The hnakra is our enemy, but he is also our beloved. We feel in our hearts his joy as he looks down from the mountain of water in the north where he was born; we leap with him when he jumps the falls; and when winter comes, and the lake smokes higher than our heads, it is with his eyes that we see it and know that his roaming time is come. We hang images of him in our houses, and the sign of all the hrossa is a hnakra. In him the spirit of the valley lives; and our young play at being hnéraki as soon as they can splash in the shallows."

Ransom has a hard time grasping the concept of mutual respect inherent to his description, so he goes on:

"... I do not think the forest would be so bright, nor the water so warm, nor love so sweet, if there were no danger in the lakes. I will tell you a day in my life that has shaped me; such a day as comes only once, like love, or serving Oyarsa in Meldilorn. Then I was young, not much more than a cub, when I went far, far up the handramit to the land where stars shine at midday and even water is cold. A great waterfall I climbed. I stood on the shore of Balki the pool, which is the place of most awe in all worlds... Because I have stood there alone, Maleldil and I, for even Oyarsa sent me no word, my heart has been higher, my song deeper, all my days. But do you think it would have been so unless I had known that in Balki hnéraki dwelled? There I drank life because death was in the pool..."

Pleasure, too often sought and indulged, loses its meaning in much the same way Hyoi describes life without the possibility of danger (or, good without the existence of evil).  Without the contrast of unrequited desire, of restraint, pleasure loses its significance when it is at once finally attained.  Same here with the idea of life and death -- without death, life becomes less precious and meaningful, and it is that constant reminder of the danger -- Hyoi argues -- that gives us reason to appreciate the moments, and ultimately the memory of those moments that exists in between.  Thus, the memory becomes equally important, as it is the thing that gives lasting purpose and meaning and value to those events that really should be (in his assessment) few and far between to keep the significance pure.

General (... and maaaaybe some specific) Seminar Paper Topics/Prompts

Keep in mind, if further expanded, these could also serve in part as directions toward larger paper topics as well. In fact, it might be good to consolidate your efforts and think about using your Seminar short paper as a preliminary pre-write to your long paper. No reason they can't be connected :)

So here are some ideas to help you.  Keep in mind, you want to in some way connect literature -- as covered in class -- to philosophy, or philosophy to literature, as this is the goal of the class.  You can do this through the major units/questions we'll cover this semester.  Below are those questions, and some sub-topics that might be generated from them.  Feel free to email me if you have any questions about any one of them (or, a few of them) in particular, and/or how to apply them to our class literature pieces, and I'd be more than happy to help question you and lead you toward narrowing things down further and helping you formulate a response in a structured manner!

Unit 1: The Nature of Belief [What is Real? What is Existence?]

• Throughout history, many stories have been told about the origins of the universe -- some use religion to answer this question, others science -- do they have to be mutually exclusive?
• Do both good and evil have to exist, or can one eliminate the other for once and for all?
• Faith is described by the religious metaphysicians as better than belief, in that belief is simply taken without thought or reason while Faith must accompany choice and careful deliberation. Is Faith something would should have/use? Does it need only apply to religion?
• Can we trust everything we see/hear/touch/etc? (If not, how can we get to the truth?)
• True/False: "If there is one constant in the universe, it is Change."
• Would there be a time in your life where 'erasing all memory of the past' would be a good thing?
• Why are we so interested, as human beings, in slowing down to look at accidents on the freeway? What about our existence makes us so interested in morbidity and death?
• True/False: "History repeats itself."
• True/False: "Time is only something that exists because humans have defined it and can perceive it."
• True/False: "Religion is for the weak-minded."
• Is there a difference between 'living' and 'being alive'?
• Is the mind the same thing as the brain?
• Can God create a stone so heavy that he cannot lift it?
• Can there be 'morality' without God?
• What are numbers and do they really exist?
• Why is there something rather than nothing?
• How do you know you are not dreaming right now?
• If we live in a computer simulation, does it make a difference to the meaning of life?

Unit 2: The Question of Identity [Who am I? How do I Know What I Know?]

• Is "déjà vu" a real thing? How do we explain the feeling? (to go along with that, do you ever feel like you were meant for something, that some event or moment in your life was 'meant to be'?
• True/False: "Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all."
• Should knowledge be based only on what we experience (specifically, what we see/hear/touch etc.), or can we know things that we may never sense? 
• How do people who live in similar environments (think of siblings raised together) become so radically different? On the same token, how can two people who have never met -- who lived very different lives -- be so incredibly similar?
• Can some animals be people too, or at least, people-like?
• Do I know myself better than anyone else? In other words, do I shape my identity, or do other people's opinions of me also play a role in my defining?
• How should we approach the ethnocentricity of human beings? Are we greater than the rest of the animal kingdom -- is there something that makes us special? Do we then have responsibility for everything else as a result?
• Are the major shake-ups in our lives the only events that are important in our self-defining?
• True/False: "I do not truly become a self (or person, or free being) until I make a conscious decision to act on something I believe."
• True/False: "Ignorance is Bliss."
• Which one plays a greater role: Nature or Nurture?
• Is there a line between insanity and creativity? Where is the difference?
• How do you know that your experience of consciousness is the same as other people's experience of consciousness? In other words, how can we be sure that anything we communicate can be actually shared?
• Is race a biological category or a social construct?
• Are you the same person you were ten years ago?
• What is a person? Is it the mind, or the body? Or?
• Is truth relative, or a matter of opinion?

Unit 3: Of Individual Will and Choice [Am I Free? Does Anything Have Meaning?]

• To what extent do you shape your own destiny, and how much is down to 'fate'?
• If there is a purpose to human life, does it stand to reason that there is also a greater purpose to animal and plant life? Are they all the same, or different? 
• Do we have a true 'destiny' or are life's outcomes strictly the result of choice and/or circumstance?
• True/False: "Absolute Power corrupts Absolutely."
• Without choosing to be happy, can we ever really be happy? Similarly, without choosing to love someone, do we really ever experience love?
• Are we merely a product of our mundane routines? Are we stuck in a cyclical existence of meaninglessness?
• Do each of our decisions in life have profound impact on later events? Can we alter the course of our lives at any point, or is there such a thing as 'too late'?
• At what point does a punishment cease to be a punishment?
• True/False: "Much of what I believe is a product of either my genetics, or my environment."
• What things hold you back from doing the things that you really want to do?
• Is it always better to have more choices?
• If there is no freewill, should we punish people at all?
• Are people free to sell themselves into slavery?

Unit 4: On Proper Living [How do I Apply my Perspectives to Practical Living? On What Beliefs or Reasons do I Base my Life Choices?]

• If it is wrong to kill another person, is it always wrong -- or are there exceptions? 
• Is it wrong to kill a mass murderer?
• True/False: "What goes around comes around."
• Are there many different types of love, or do we love different things with the same emotion just in different degrees? ("What is love? Baby don't hurt me... don't hurt me... no more...)
• True/False: "Actions speak louder than words."
• How do we reconcile with other people who have radically different views and values than us? Is someone wrong and someone right? How do we settle those disagreements?
• Which is more persuasive -- emotion, or logic?
• Most people have ideals and morals in some practical sense -- however, are there events that would make you question your own? 
• Is it better to be merciful, even if it means letting bad people get away with things once in a while, or "hold fast" to your ideals or morals so that bad never goes unpunished?
• Can we hold one view in our personal lives and the opposite view in our public lives concurrently -- even if those views contradict?
• True/False: "If we have the technology and intelligence to do something, we should."
• Is it worse to fail at something or never attempt it in the first place?
• Should people care more about doing the right things, or doing things right?
• Why do people fear losing things that they may not even have (yet, or ever)?
• Is 'family' still relevant in the modern world of individualism?
• What role does 'honor' play in today's society?

** I will continue to add to this list as I think of more things to add -- check back again later!

The God of the Inklings: Lewis and Tolkien's Fantastic Takes on the Creator

Most people are at least familiar with Tolkien's masterful work, The Lord of the Rings, through at least Peter Jackson's blockbuster film-franchise representations.  And while the movies do an incredibly compelling job of representing the fantastical elements of Tolkien's complete world of Middle Earth, and does decent job of condensing an absolute wealth of plot lines, the movies do what movies tend to do -- pictorially represent without getting at the full substance of the ideologies behind authorial intent.  As a result, some of Tolkien's greatest reasons for his novel series gets lost in epic battles, heroism, and beautiful scenery (albeit, those are some damn beautiful sceneries).

Tolkien, like his friend Lewis, was a successful Oxford academic, professor, and lover of languages, mythologies, cultures, and -- unlike the early Lewis (though Tolkien later changes this) -- a devout religious follower (specifically, Catholic).  Like many of the writers who belonged to the esteemed 'Inklings,' Tolkien sought to create a fictitious fantasy world where he could play out his ideals and give credence to his views while presenting a story or 'mythos' worthy of generations of readers and thinkers.  He was incredibly successful, but incredibly tedious -- he spent much of his time writing, rewriting, editing, reediting, rewriting some more... until he perfected his works (and while many of acknowledge perfection as an impossibility, he didn't care and shot for it anyway, which also made publishing his grand mythos a daunting task, since nothing was ever good enough for him to publish). As a result, much of his 'Unfinished Tales' still remain unfinished, or have been manipulated and rewritten, or added to, by his son Christopher and are published as such today, post-Tolkien's death.

Lewis came from a much different path to the Inkling-party, originally an atheist resulting from some childhood tragedies and largely a more negative view of his experience in the Great War to the contrast of Tolkien.  He came to Oxford with this presupposed, and didn't take on any religion at all until a night-walk with Tolkien had him accepting the possibility, and eventually the existence, of God (though it was some time later that he embraced the more systematic beliefs of Christianity).  As a result of this major epiphany, Lewis made it his goal as well to write a Christian mythos -- which became apparent in most of his writing (including the Science Fiction Trilogy we're experiencing in class) -- which then became the basic mission of his works, The Chronicles of Narnia.

Narnia -- if read chronologically (though there is much debate about the reading order of the stories, since Lewis actually wrote them out of order, and thus many argue the publishing order to be the 'proper' order) -- begins with the book The Magician's Nephew, in which a boy happens upon a transformative experience that takes him to another world, entirely.  When he gets to the world, it is essentially blank, black nothingness.  While he stands within this nothingness, he hears the sound of song, which is shortly accompanied by light, material substances in the sky (stars), on the ground, and then more recognizable structures like flowers, trees, etc.  He eventually sees the source of the sound, emanating from a Lion who seems to be 'causing' the world to come into existence -- himself always in existence -- (in Aristotle's words) the pure actuality, the pure thought, that which causes all other things, the mover that moves all things toward being from the possibility of becoming.  Everything, 'his' creation.  As the books go on, more information is given about the Lion, whom we come to know in The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe as 'Aslan' who in essence goes through a very similar situation of sacrifice akin to that of the crucifixion of Christ -- in which, like the curtain in the temple, the table upon which he was sacrificed splits in half, and he resurrects to greet the children and prove who in fact he is. That is, of course, he is the one true creator, the actuality, the pure being, the one who puts all things into motion.  By the end of the series (seven children's books) Lewis recounts and recreates Revelations, or the End Times, and gives his perspective of Heaven, which I won't give here because I really think everyone should experience it for themselves -- it's a really interesting and clever description.

Tolkien had tons of issue with Lewis' representations; his most ardent criticism is that Lewis' stories were too close to the truth of the Bible, too allegorical.  He found them childlike and simplistic, and too fantastical (to be fair, it was meant to be a fantasy for children, of course).  But the acknowledgment is there -- Lewis aimed to make the Christian mythos accessible to even the simplest minds of existence, so that the Christian story could be translated in a way that most would have to at least contend with and acknowledge the idea of a perfect being which created the world from nothingness of his own accord and will.  Tolkien's aim was a bit higher -- no where in The Lord of the Rings, at least, is a creation story -- one must read his Silmarillion, the bible of TLOTR in order to get all of this -- but rather an embedding of Christian virtues and values.  In fact, much of what is said in Lewis' Mere Christianity can be found in practical application in Tolkien's mythos.  For example, on page 49 in the second book, third chapter entitled "The Shocking Alternative," Lewis discusses Evil as a parasite of Good, not an original thing in and of itself, and aims to prove why evil can and does exist even with a God who is the Utmost Good (aka the classic philosophical "Problem of Evil"):

When we have understood about free will, we shall see how silly it is to ask, as somebody once asked me: 'Why did God make a creature of such rotten stuff that it went wrong?' The better stuff a creature is made of -- the cleverer and stronger and freer it is -- then the better it will be if it goes right, but also the worse it will be if it goes wrong. A cow cannot be very good or very bad; a dog can be both better and worse; a child better and worse still; an ordinary man, still more so; a man of genius, still more so; a superhuman spirit best -- or worst -- of all.

Tolkien uses this exact idea in his conception of the power of the Ring.  While the Ring was made by someone of evil intent, its power (and ultimately the Evil someone himself) were not;  Sauron, once chief lieutenant of Morgoth (aka Melkor), began as a Maiar (of the same spirit strength as Saruman, also originally good, and Gandalf).  In fact, the Dark Lord himself (Morgoth) was a Valar, on par with the highest powers of Good created by the Highest himself (think like Christian ideas of archangels) Illuvitar (look at the etymology of that, so close to "Light").  Of course all of this is logically prior to TLOTR, but deeply embedded and discussed in his Silmarillion.  So by the time we get to Middle Earth, the good things created of power - Melkor, Sauron, and soon Saruman -- have corrupted themselves in trying to be more powerful than their initial position.  Melkor's story, in fact, strike heavy resemblance to that of Lucifer's: once the beautiful archangel, who descents desiring his own will and power.  Melkor, in the creation of the world, is one of the singers who contributes to creation (note again, like Lewis, creation begins in song) -- however, instead of singing his harmony with the other Valar, he strikes off on his own tune against the wishes of Illuvitar, and earns his place in line with the Biblical version of Satan -- cast away from the Good, desiring his own power and realm, which he corrupts from Good intentions into the evilness consistent with Lewis' descriptions of it in Mere Christianity.

This is all presupposed when the ring is created, and when it is found in TLOTR series.  If you apply the conception above in Lewis' passage to the ring itself, it becomes clear: The Ring uses good power to corrupt the heart of the Good into fulfilling the evil intentions of the bad.  This is why -- at the council of the Ring in Rivendell -- everyone is reluctant to take it that has any sense (especially Gandalf, who is by far the most powerful being present).  Freedom, as stated above, allows things to go bad exponentially the more potential for good and power exists in the being.  Gandalf, extraordinarily powerful, even claims that while his aim would be to use the Ring for good, would absolutely become so powerful from it and corrupt so easily that it would be the highest danger for him to handle it.  Next would be elves, men, etc. until the least powerful of the creatures -- the hobbits who have no extraordinary strength, wit, skill, or magical power -- are in essence forced to carry it as safely as possible.  And even then, it's clear that even the least powerful can still have a hand in things -- look at Smeagol/Gollum for example.  Clearly corrupted into trickery, lying, stealing, cheating, and even murder, he even plays a part in some good of the Ring, and shows that no matter how small a being is, his part to play is as important and can be as powerful -- and terrifying.

So in summation for today, both fantasies aim at something similar from a different perspective -- they show the origination of the mythos, the creation story in some way, and how Evil comes about not as an original thing, but can only be attached to the world through choice -- NOT through the creation of the Good as a separate and distinct entity.  Mere Christianity has a pretty compelling answer as to why it is even a necessary part of existence at all, which will be the basis of discussion for the rest of this week -- check back on Thursday for my thoughts on that one :)

On General Happiness

Things that make me happy:

• Rainy days when I'm at home and can sit and just listen to it
• References students make to things that I've said in the distant past
• Random visits from people I like, even if it's not me they're really coming to see
• Smart references in books that are allusions to other things I know
• Incredible, deep, personal discussions 
• Playful banter
• Winning, even if it's not directly related to my own personal gain
• A clean house, a well-cooked dinner, and time to sit and do nothing at all
• In opposition to the above, and incredibly full, busy (and fulfilling) day
• Teaching things I absolutely LOVE
• Teaching people I absolutely LOVE
• Video games I've played over and over and over, and test still want to keep playing over and over and over
• A crisp, only slightly sweet apple
• A cute dress, and cute shoes
• Super heavy blankets, which necessitates my space being cold
• Watching my grape vines grow and flourish
• Watching my dog run around the house like a crazy beast, sliding on the rugs because she has no traction
• Watching my cat chase the light which reflects off my hand-held mirrors
• A good, fresh haircut
• the smell of dirt when it's raining somewhere
• The clarity of the sky after it rains, when you can see the mountains like they're in your back yard
• The rolling green hills of the California Central Coast
• Crying at the majesty of the Lincoln Memorial
• The surprise of three or more cherries in a Shirley Temple made by an awesome waitress
• Geeking out with others over the awesomeness that is the writing of Aldous Huxley
• The sound of a baseball when struck squarely with a wooden bat
• Writing something that is absolutely exactly what I had in mind (SO rare!)
• Believe it or not, producing these blogs and (hopefully) sharing/inspiring others with my randomness
• Working with people I love, who are better than me in many/all ways
• Feeling the absolute love and support of those around me
• Doing nice things for others, no matter how small
• Finding comfort in the uncomfortable
• The true and genuine happiness of others, especially if I'm there to witness it (and even more so if I have a part to play in it)
• Seeing former students go off to awesome schools, loving their lives, and doing something incredible with them
• Oddly enough, finding the meaning and value behind the tragedies and little moments of melancholy in life -- I may enjoy the drama of life, a bit
• The time I get to spend by myself, in quiet (I don't exactly 'meditate' -- but I do enjoy solitude, probably a product of being an only child, I'm good at keeping myself occupied)
• Reflection

Good for now, more to come later.  Have an excellent weekend everyone!

Ransom's ἀπορία in C.S. Lewis' Out of the Silent Planet

While ἀπορία (or, "aporia") is not unique to the Greeks, it is with Plato that we really want to start the discussion here, particularly in relation to C.S. Lewis.  Lewis, from childhood on, was enamoured with Greek literature and mythology, and received First Honors in Greek and Latin Literature while attending Oxford University - so he was obviously quite familiar with the Platonic dialogues and through them the sense of 'wonder' and 'puzzlement' commonly experienced by all of Socrates' interlocutors at the end of each individual installment.  It is no 'wonder' (ha, see that pun?) that Ransom, the main character of the first of his space trilogies Out of the Silent Planet, expresses the juxtaposition of both fear and excitement in the first several chapters -- the first major moments -- of his journey away from Earth.

Ransom is a 35-40-something year old philologist (studier of languages, typically the ancient ones with significant cultural ties) and Cambridge graduate who seemingly happens upon a disturbance while walking.  He comes off initially as slightly pompous and a bit stand-off-ish, likely a convention devised by Lewis to show human growth and change over the course of the novel's conflicts (but, I digress), with a definite desire to be somewhere more comfortable and familiar.  At any rate, he gets mixed up in an issued between three men, one with which he has been previously acquainted and another he meets through said acquaintance here, both of which seem incredibly shifty from the get-go.  Unfortunately for Ransom, he is 'in the wrong place at the wrong time,' and is drugged and carried off to some weird location where he wakes up in complete daze-and-confusion. It is here that is 'aporia' begins.

The first image he sees when he awakens actually serves as a point which produces doubt (in fact, there is a point at which the unnamed 'narrator' even acknowledges that the story is suggestive of a dream).  His first response is to doubt the validity of his sense of sight, claiming that "no moon could possibly be the size of the thing he was seeing." Also, with the anti-gravity he experiences as well, he claims "suspicion that he might be dead and already in the ghost-life," doubting his senses even further to suggest their nonexistence.  With each new sensation -- the vibration of the room, the movement of the 'vessel,' the realization of the images before him -- he expresses finally that Platonic 'aporia' which he perfectly describes as "fear that was hardly distinguishable from his general excitement" which "might at any moment pass into delirious terror or into an ecstasy of joy."  He then realizes that it is not at all the Moon -- but rather Earth being left in his spaceship's tracks.  

He continues to feel this wondrous mix of fear and joy throughout every new experience of the novel.  The difference lies then in how he reacts to it and what he does with the feelings.  Initially, like most humans, he becomes "unconscious of everything except his fear" and for much of the novel he relies upon the instinctual "fight or flight" response.  Over time, however -- as we will see as we read in class -- he comes to harness that experience in a much more productive, rational, and educated way.  Experience, it'll do that for ya.

His episode here reminds me so much of the experiences outlined in Plato's "Allegory of the Cave" (my classes have yet to get to this, still a month away, but I figure what the hell, why not here).  In the Allegory, he describes men who have been chained so as to only see shadows being projected on the wall in front of them, representations of objects moving behind them in front of a fire.  He describes their release as one of 'force' in which a person who acts as their releaser would have to actually physically move them, drag them around, and force them to confront the reality of the images they've come to know as their only truths (which, really, are just shadows).  It takes effort, pain, often anger and fear, in order to reconcile the preconceived notion with the now more fuller 'truth.' (Side note: it's not to say that shadows aren't true -- they are. They are just incomplete without an understanding as to their source, especially if we say that they are the ONLY truths; I guess half-truths are still somewhat falsehoods!) It seems that Ransom's 'aporia' as experienced at least so far in these earlier chapters, suggests that same kind of pain -- what he has known, exists solely on the planet of his origin.  Now that he has been physically dragged away from it, he must now be figuratively dragged into a more full-conception of truth -- that of the external world, beyond earth, which reveals even more truths than the limitation of the (cave called) Earth.  

Will be an interesting journey to follow, as he confronts more than just a physically new world.  Looking forward to talking about it in my classes!

My Personal τέλος (aka "Why I Teach")

Andy (my husband) said I have to limit this to 300 words, so here goes nothing (if you can't already guess, I'm bad at limiting myself to small space -- I'm on the wordy side... just a bit):

In class, we've been covering Aristotle, who -- in essence -- argues that man's τέλος, his purpose, is wrapped up in the idea of happiness. Of course, one's 'soul'/purpose is to live, and thus his idea of happiness is linked to the Greek notion of εὐδαιμονία or "human flourishing." We flourish in moving toward perfection, 'actuality' he calls it, and so our desire should be focused around truly seeking out the use of our whole capacities (nutritive, appetitive, locomotive, and contemplative) to their fullest.

While I know we can't function without our body (our 'meat' as I've been calling it in class!) I still think he's right in the sense that thought is something we don't become fully human without.  But, because I'm a Huxley scholar, and a perennialist (more on this as the year goes on, looking forward to Point Counter Point!), I really want to call importance not just to thought, but full awareness. Because this has become so much a formation of who I am personally, I really want to help translate this in a way that is accessible to my students.  I don't think there is a better way to live -- for me, to be aware of everything around me, of the fullness of my experiences, the depth of my learning, full attention to my interactions with others, and as clear an understanding of the world around me and myself is absolutely central.  Hopefully, through the way I teach, and the primacy I put on treating students as PERSONS first, students second, they'll truly come to embrace the idea of awareness in their lives. That, for me, would be success as an educator.

(278 HA!)

How I View the World: my imperfect "template" theory

One of these days, I'm going to actually finally write the book I've been talking about for the past... 10 years.  The more I read and the more I learn, though, the more elusive this book becomes, and yet the more of a holistic understanding I can bring to it.

In the final presentation I had to do in order to earn my Masters degree at Loyola Marymount (in front of three different professors, two of which I thought for sure would be completely against my ideas -- lucky me...), I presented the ideas I'd been working on in almost every paper I wrote in my two years in the program.  What I came to realize is that I'm personally very interested in the way philosophy (particularly aspects of metaphysics and epistemology) plays a role in the way we approach a text; e.g. the way the experience of the author and the reader shape the meaning of the text, and how the text becomes the mode of conversation through which the author and reader share in a dialogical experience (even if the author is dead, ha).  In all of my papers, I came to the conclusion, essentially, that literature (and philosophical questions) are the best kinds of things to study because of the way in which our personal experiences (of both the author and reader, equally) shape the way we approach interpretation (this is also true of art, and perception -- but I'll save that for later).  Interpretation then becomes like a number line between 0 and 1; it is clear that 2 is out of the realm of possible true interpretations, but there is still an infinite number of interpretations in between (e.g. .1, .001, .0009, and on and on...)

I love that people are such complex animals, and bring incredibly unique perspectives to everything they do -- no two people are exactly alike -- in the genetic scientific sense, in the nature/nurture sense, in the vast differences of personal experiences, events, values, etc.  We each bring a completely unique set of interpretive views to everything we do, think, read, see. This is why conversation and dialogue continue, why learning is something that never ceases.  We never ever get a full and complete picture of reality, because we only experience it from one view.

This sounds so futile and discouraging.  However, (and maybe this is why I've become a teacher, particularly of literature and philosophy) my favorite thing about it all is it need not be futile nor discouraging.  If we become set in our own views, mired in or single-minded egocentrism, then obviously there is nothing to learn and no shared experiences to be had -- and ultimately, no true conversation or dialogue either.  THAT to me is discouraging and futile.  What literature and philosophy allows us to do is, in a second-hand way, experience the views, values, ideas, and perspectives of others both similar to us and vastly different.  THIS is how we learn to be full and complete humans.  THIS is how we expand the horizons of our knowledge -- and the best part is it can never be fully achieved; there will always be new people, new literature to read, new experiences to experience (first- AND second-hand) and so long as we're never satisfied with what we have and what we know, the journey need not ever end.  It's exhilarating to me, and keeps me wanting to continue to read, talk, and share with others with a constantly-renewed sense of optimism.

I told my professors during my final presentation that I'm not at all bothered by contradiction -- this fact about myself alarms many in the area of philosophy, because it can relegate itself into the rabbit-hole of Relativism, and quickly into Nihilism -- neither of which I believe I fit.  Instead, I see contradiction as an inherent part of being humans of different experiences and insights, products often of our local environments and social structures, but all sharing in some aspect of the single overarching and holistic truth.  I call this my 'template theory' -- that each lens through which people view the world (be it religion, scientism, etc.) lays over the reality of the world and reveals some of its truths, but imperfectly. The more templates through which we approach the world -- i.e. the more perspectives we attempt to learn, assume (think of Atticus Finch's whole "get in other people's shoes" mantra) -- the more of a true, and whole, picture we get of the real world.  It's never perfect, never complete, but the closer we get, the more I feel we fulfill our purpose as thinking beings (ah, good ol' Aristotle, look at me fulfilling his idea of happiness and worth by aiming to actualize the purpose of my "soul").

These theories of course are massively imperfect, and have major argumentative and logical flaws.  This will obviously be something I'll have to deal with whenever (and WHEN, not IF damn it I'm going to make it happen someday soon!) I write this book of mine.