June 8, 2010 at 11:36 A.M. "Errors" inserted overnight that were not found in earlier versions of this essay have now been corrected. Don't stop now, boys. New mafia arrests in New Jersey as various police chiefs and other officials have been asked to "retire." I expect additional cyberwarfare at these blogs, every day. I can never be sure of writing at my computer, but if blocked at my home computer I will move to public computers in order to continue writing. ("How Censorship Works in America" and "What is it like to be censored in America?")
June 7, 2010 at 6:55 P.M. "Errors" inserted since I posted this essay earlier today. Deleting words again? Keep 'em coming.
The new Robin Hood movie is fun. It is always a pleasure to see Russell Crowe leading men into battle. Cate Blanchet is regal in a role set in exotic locations and time periods. Ms. Blanchet possesses the gift of seeming to fit into such places with ease or naturalness. The selection of Ms. Blanchet to play Maid Marian is wise because Ridley Scott is exploring some of the mythological themes also featured in the Lord of the Rings, where Ms. Blanchet was an ethereal elf princess. (The Shire is Sherwood Forest.)
It was a joy to discover Max Von Sydow in a supporting role -- Mr. Von Sydow steals every scene in which he appears -- and his performance alone justifies the cost of the "movie experience" as they say in Hollywood. A blind man presents a tempting target to those who relish the opportunity to strike from behind a victim's back. "Error" insertions?
One is immediately reminded of Igmar Bergman's The Seventh Seal where Mr. Scott's theme in Robin Hood of political obligation as a duty owed to others, notably posterity, is explored by the great Sweedish director and where Mr. Von Sydow offers an early star turn. ("'The Reader': A Movie Review.")
The plot of Robin Hood concerns two symbols used by the British (or is Mr. Scott Australian?) film director for purposes of clarity and simplicity: the sword (law) and the crown (sovereignty). A third symbol that appears in this cinematic text will be discussed at the conclusion of my essay.
Robin Longacre (Russell Crowe) attends upon the king, Richard the Lion Heart, whose death during the siege of an unimportant castle on his journey home from the crusades -- after being ransomed from Leopold of Austria -- opens the narrative. Errol Flynn's classic performance gets a nod in Mr. Crowe's friendships with Tuck, "Little John" and Will Scarlet.
The Castle of Charlus (or Chalus) in what is now called the south of France would have been located in what Richard would know as langue d'oc. Nation states were not invented until a period from about the fifteenth to the nineteenth centuries. Germany was not a unified country, for example, until the Franco/Prussian war of 1871.
The castle most likely would have been named for "Charlemagne" ("Charles" and "lux," or the "light of Charles"), long before Richard I, "the Lion Heart." Readers interested in this period are directed to William Manchester's and Desmond Stewart's popular histories of the so-called "Dark Ages."
The murder of the good knight, Robin of Loxley, is witnessed by Robin Longacre (Mr. Crowe), even as the murderer is the bad knight, Geoffrey of Monmouth. I am unable to supply the name of the actor playing this dastardly villain, at this time, but I will make it a point to add his name to this review later. Incidentally, there is a Monmouth, New Jersey where "Slim Jim" McGreevey may be found hatching evil plots to regain the monarchy. Mr. McGreevey has been heard to mutter: "My kingdom for a horse!"
Identity and questions of nobility arise immediately in the story which forges an association with the classic fable "The Return of Martin Guerre." Robin Hood is the essential English myth because the story is about Englishness, as a quest for moral identity through "hiding," that is, by way of metaphors conjured through the use of the English language. ("Metaphor is Mystery.")
It is this magical language which is the true Sherwood Forest in which we reside and must be "persons," free persons and equal in the words of our English common law.
What does it mean to be "noble"? Who is a "subject" of law? How is law connected to words, especially written texts, like Magna Carta? Is this movie also a set of metaphors? What are these strange things called "rights"? Most importantly and uniquely in political history, this idea of "liberty" that emerges, falteringly and dangerously, during the medieval period becomes the subject of violent struggle and is associated with English earth, with "each man's" -- and woman's -- home being "a castle."
Please refer to Professor George Santayana's great essay, "English Liberty in America." I also direct the reader to Harold J. Berman's Law and Revolution: The Formation of the Western Legal Tradition (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1983), pp. 262-263. (Conveyances of land were legally certified by having the owner transfer a handful of earth to the purchaser and new owner.)
Chronology is slightly off in the movie since Richard became king in 1189 and died ten years later. This first great charter of rights dates from 1215. However, there were several predecessors for this document, Magna Carta -- not only in Ireland, but also in Iceland and in Islamic Spain -- which was destroyed by the barbaric Christians of the Iberian peninsula, notably in the form of "El Cid." (Charlton Heston in the dreadful movie with the great, Sophia Loren.)
Magna Carta had very little to say about rights -- there weren't any! -- of ordinary people and all women. Philosophy teaches students that containing radical ideas is impossible. The notion of a constraint on the divine power of kings was radical enough to produce, in time, the revolutions of modernity -- including the British people's indulgence in occasional "bloodless revolutions" such as the world witnessed recently with the election of a new Prime Minister, David Cameron, who has (generously) agreed to free his serfs upon entering number 10 Downing Street. Any more "errors" to be inserted by New Jersey morons?
Although the plight of women, nicely underlined for the audience by Ms. Blanchet, was not much helped by this great document of feudal rights, women did make use of political authority and hold power in every age, usually through their husbands by way of "marriage alliances," even becoming in one unusual case, a Virgin Queen, wielding ultimate religious and political authority over the British isles. (See Ms. Blanchet in "Elizabeth" and my story "Master and Commander.")
Robin is charged with two missions: return the dying knight's sword to his aged and blind father's estate and the dead king's crown to his brother John, the new king. This plot device takes liberties with history since Richard forgave his brother's plotting. This "symbolic discourse" (Paul Ricoeur) indicates that the law belongs to the people whose welfare defines legitimate authority. The return of the crown to the king, sovereignty to royal government, suggests the burdens of monarchy which is also one of Shakespeare's great themes. I believe that the attempt to impeach Mr. Clinton was a threat to the franchise of voters that then President Clinton had no choice but to resist. In America it is the people who must wear the crown. Jeffrey Toobin, A Vast Conspiracy (New York: Random House, 1999).
A third symbol in the film, then, is the archer's bow and arrow, intentionality or directedness of speech towards truth, law towards justice. The twelfth century saw the rediscovery of Aristotle and Aquinas, teleology in politics and law. The aim of the archer must be true. Power must be exercised in favor of the people's welfare. The result is the "happy shire" or forest of Sherwood where our story ends.
The forest is a place where the viewer of this film meets the artists who create it -- language, verbal and visual languages, the community of this "text," English and American Constitutions, Englishness, the word, speech and thought. ("Is it rational to believe in God?" and "Manifesto for the Unfinished American Revolution.")
Mr. Scott is clearly warning of the dangers of abandoning due process and habeas corpus rights in America's concentration camps or in the "War on Terror." These rights were painfully won. They must never be abandoned or thrown away by rulers, like King John (George W. Bush), in pursuit of fleeting or momentary goals of the nation. Point taken.
The mythological text is much richer than this political theme suggests because it concerns the very encounter offered by this film. All of us live in Sherwood Forest with Robin and Marian. Winston Churchill refers to the "English-Speaking Peoples" as the residents of this forest who are always held together at their "darkest hour" by such things as commitment to the rule of law, decency, due process and unshakable commitment to liberty. These English farmers and soldiers are the ancestors of the characters in the television show, "Justified." ("'Justified': A Review of the FX Television Series.")
This brings me to a final image not noticed in any review of this movie that I have seen, including the surprisingly inadequate review in The New York Times. Upon the shield carried into battle by Richard cour d'leon is an image of Britain's "Lion and Unicorn." Hitler's mistake was to see only the unicorn; Mr. Churchill introduced Hitler to the British Lion. America's eagle and bear serve the identical archetypal function with one slight variation that I will discuss on another occasion. For now, let us refer to this image still seen in many British buildings and monuments:
"The Lion is an actual beast, the Unicorn is a chimera; and is not England in fact always bouyed up on one side by some chimera, as on the other by a sense for fact?"
Please see "G.E. Moore's Critique of Idealism" and William Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Night's Dream."
"Illusions are mighty, and must be reckoned with in this world; but it is not necessary to share them or even to understand them from within, because being illusions they do not prophesy the probable consequences of their existence; they are irrelevant in aspect to what they involve in effect. The dove of peace brings new wars, the religion of love instigates crusades and lights faggots, metaphysical idealism in practice is the worship of Mammon, government by the people establishes the boss, free trade creates monopolies, fondness smothers its pet, assurance precipitates disaster, fury ends in smoke and in shaking hands. The shaggy Lion is dimly aware of this; he is ponderous and taciturn by an instinctive philosophy. Why should he be troubled about the dreams of the Unicorn, more than about those of the nightingale or the spider? ... Leonine fortitude makes the strength of England in the world. ... But England is also, more than any other country, the land of poetry and of the inner man. [His castle; her castle.] Her sunlight and mists, her fields, cliffs, and moors are full of aerial enchantment; it is a land of tenderness and dreams. The whole nation hugs its hallowed shams; there is a real happiness, a sense of safety, in agreeing not to acknowledge the obvious; there is a universal conspiracy of respect for the non-existent. English religion, English philosophy, English law, English domesticity could not get on without this 'tendency to feign.' ..." (English literature and all art is "feigning"?)
George Santayana, Soliloquies in England and Later Soliloquies (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1967), pp. 41-42.
To keep it real in the English-speaking world, we must dream together. Our most important dream for centuries is called "freedom with equality for all." We must make that dream real, every day.
Suggestions for Further Reading:
Noel Annan, Our Age: The Generation That Made Post-War Britain (London: Fontana, 1990).
Anthony Burgess, Any Old Iron (New York: Washington Square Press, 1989).
John Fowles, Daniel Martin (New York: Signet, 1978). (Fowles should have received the Nobel Prize.)
Howard Pyle, The Story of King Arthur and His Knights (New York: Charles Scribner's, 1903).
Edward Rutherford, London (New York: Fawcett, 1977).
Gore Vidal, A Search for the King (New York: Ballantine, 1978).
Monday, June 7, 2010
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
"Justified": A Review of the FX Television Series.
Americans have come to expect crap on television. Sadly, we are astonished when anything remotely acceptable to a person who is anything other than a brain-dead vegetable-like resident of a mental home is discovered on network t.v. Imagine my shock, delight, and surprise when I came across the first season of a show on FX ("FX" sounds like a weapons system!) called -- "Justified."
This program -- now entering its second season -- is really an old fashioned western soap opera elevated by highly intelligent writing and exquisite acting to the level of a British costume drama on Masterpiece Theater. We tend to forget that Americans can kick ass in t.v. drama when we want to and get paid for it. It seems like "getting paid for it" makes people "want" to do good work. Is that Republican talk? No, just common sense. "Same thing," our Republican friends say.
The people creating this show -- somebody named "Wendy Calhoun" is the "story editor" (What's that?) and Tony Goldwyn of hallowed Hollywood nobility is a producer (What does a producer do?) who may be the same person as "Graham Yost" -- really want to kick ass and they do. "Stephen Heim" or "Heth" is listed as an "executive producer." I knew an "executive producer" once! I think Mr. Heim also makes ketchup. No, that's "Heinz." Also, this same person named "Graham Yost" is listed as the "developer" of the program.
My theory is that these people are really one little guy in a corner office. I suspect that none of these people attended Yale Univesity. Furthermore, I am positive that none of the characters in the program owns a summer home in Long Island.
"Emmy" nominations are due to several cast members if there is any justice in life and t.v. -- which there may not be. Is it "Emmy" or "Emmie"? Who cares? I don't. "Boyd" (Walton Goggins) as a preacher is not to be missed. The actor creating this wonderful character is "masticating" the scenery and loving it. This man is a new Jack Nicholson and deserves a big time movie career. "Rayland" played by Timothy Olyphant (I think that's how he spells his name) is Harrison Ford, Gary Cooper, John Wayne, Denzel Washington and Clint Eastwood all in one.
I hope Rayland gets to say "yep" at least once. I am told by people who should know that "Raylan" and "Rayland" are equally acceptable. Tim, you gotta see "High Noon." Ed Harris is a director and writer to study with great care. I wonder if Mr. Harris has something to with "Justified"?
Natalie Zea as Wynona ("Wynona, like the actress") is cool, polished, professional and pragmatic. I will check on cast names, relax. Ms. Zea has made Wynona a model of American womanhood, loving -- in my opinion -- one difficult ex-husband and caring for a second, coping with life, strong and gentle, sensual and mature, complex, educated, and sympathetic. Wynona knows how to get her groove on. I found your hairpin, Wynona.
Erika Tazer is Rayland's partner, the "Dana Scully" in the series -- who happens to be a beautiful African-American woman as demonstrated in her red carpet appearances and also someone who will kick your ass.
Finally, "Eva" or "Ava" (also like the actress) is a discovery that shocks viewers. Joelle Carter evokes the same feelings of awe that I experienced when I saw great actresses (or actors) who have earned Oscars since -- like Kate Winslet and Melanie Griffith -- in their first cinematic performances.
Eva is a paradox. Clearly, she is brilliant, sad and pained, talented and burdened with the after-effects of trauma. Overwhelming melancholy floods "Eva's" eyes, instantly, revealing an understanding of tragedy and loss by this character and the artist creating her that is nothing less than heart-breaking in one so young.
Where does this wisdom and compassion come from? A hard life at twenty-one? I am always dazzled by actors who can modulate the colors and nuances in their voices. Yes, "voices" is a plural word for any actor. Is Ms. Carter a singer? Music must be a big part of Ms. Carter's life.
I cannot imagine where this sadness comes from in a beautiful young woman's life. This capacity to empathize with suffering is shared with Ms. Carter's distinguished thespian predecessors that I mentioned and may reflect the actor's Southern heritage. America's once "Confederate" nation -- as Mr. Faulkner explained to an interviewer -- understands pain and tragedy whereas the rest of America often does not.
Ms. Carter is destined to play Laura in "The Glass Menagerie" and Shakespeare's "Ophelia." Volumes of rich Southern poetry float into one's mind as "Eva" steps on screen:
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me --
Yes! -- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my ANNABEL LEE.
Thank you, Mr. Edgar Allan Poe. The ability that I find most rare in any actor is the gift of conveying multiple emotions with a single glance at the camera while compelling the audience's identification with a character's pain. Although it is too soon to tell, I suspect that Ms. Carter is blessed with this talent at the level of genius. Please do some theater work in the classics, Ms. Carter. You will be a better actor/actress because of such experiences. The rest is luck and opportunities. "Oh, for a muse of fire! ..." Or Joanne Woodward (a Southern Gal!) in Paris Blues, wearing a little black dress to torture the men in the audience -- and Paul Newman.
I cannot help conjuring a Hamlet featuring this cast in "Elsinore, New Mexico." Rayland is "Hamlet Jones," U.S. Marshal. His dad in the series is "Polonious"; his step-mom is "Gertrude"; his boss is Fortinbras; Boyd is Laertes. To go kinky with it, Rayland's contemporary, Wynona, would be Gertrude. Sparks would fly. Shakespeare's long shadow appears in the finale to the first season as "fathers and sons" contest the "crown" of Harlan County, Kentucky. This show makes you want to see Kentucky.
I suspect that Wendy Calhoun is both women in this series, a younger and wilder versus an older and (somewhat) wiser version of herself are set against each other. Any scene involving those two women, Wynona and Eva, is not to be missed. I recommend Flannery O'Connor's The Violent Bear it Away (New York: Signet, 1960). These characters may have emerged from the ghost of Ms. O'Connor's pen and the old Catholic aristocracy in the South. Pass me a mimosa.
This drama is derived from an Elmore Leonard story, establishing excellence at the outset, and it is beautifully crafted by persons who know and understand these rural and difficult lives unfolding in the green hills of Kentucky. ("Gore country.")
There is no insulting disdain or condescension conveyed to these people, whose nobility and articulateness, moral struggles and deep humanity are made evident in every script. The show returns to the airwaves in February, 2011. Boyd is reading William Somerset Maugham's Of Human Bondage, a novel drawn from the fourth book of Spinoza's "Ethics" that dramatizes the argument of that great philosophical work concerning the need to balance emotion with reason in moral life. Good luck, Boyd.
People from these beautiful hills -- a landscape clearly internalized by the characters -- are not depicted as stupid, racists, rednecks, or cartoons. They are as complex, good or evil, mysterious and unpredictable as anyone you know.
I cannot avoid fantasizing about any number of alternative productions with these characters whose chemistry is dazzling. This show is way better written and acted than "Grey's Anatomy" or almost everything else that I have seen on television with the possible exception of the best USA programs, like "Burn Notice" or "White Collar." Once more, Mr. Poe, please:
Beloved! amid the earnest woes
That crowd around my earthly path --
(Drear path, alas! where grows
Not even one lonely rose) --
My soul at least a solace hath
In dreams of thee, and therein knows
An Eden of bland repose.
And thus my memory is to me
Like some enchanted far-off isle
In some tumultuous sea --
Some ocean throbbing far and free
With storms -- but where meanwhile
Serenest skies continually
Just o'er that one bright island smile.
Rayland's boss at the U.S. Marshal's Office is a typical harried federal official, resembling Bill Richardson, former Governor of New Mexico, and official under President Clinton -- I believe he was "National Security Advisor." He copes with the challenges, including supervising Rayland, and does a good job in a quietly efficient way. ("'Inception': A Movie Review.")
The Miami Cubanoid mafiosos are as loathsome as the local variety of gangsters and are depicted quite accurately, as I can attest. There is a Cuban-American Assistant U.S. Attorney, Mr. Vasquez, who is pretty good and decent, like Rayland's boss. Accents identify the actors as does the Miami setting. Boringly, Vasquez reminds me of me -- except I am nicer than he is and better looking, if somewhat older, sporting distinguished gray in my neatly shorn locks of hair. No one is a stereotype. African-Americans make cameo appearances and more, also being shown as human beings displaying all of the ills that flesh is heir to. I reach, again, for my "Collected Poems of Edgar Allan Poe" and "Plays of Tennessee Williams" after every show.
Aside from the ongoing drama of good guys versus bad guys -- with occasional red neck bullies in bars and insane judges thrown in for those who crave them in tribute to John Kennedy Toole's A Confederacy of Dunces -- there is the subtle and sensitive tension between the feelings of the protagonists caught in a kind of love triangle against what they perceive as their duties. The best review of Mr. Toole's Rabelesian work is provided by Anthony Burgess. Contrast "Faith in a Bottle" (reviewing Rabelais, by M.A. Screech) with "Life After Murder" (reviewing A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole) in Anthony Burgess, But Do Blondes Prefer Gentlemen? (New York: McGraw Hill, 1986), p. 255, then p. 409.
Eva will break the heart of every man she meets EVERYWHERE on this planet. Not every woman in America can say that she has shot one man dead; stolen the heart of a U.S. marshal; engaged in a solo war against the Dixie Mafia (and is even winning on points in my score card!), while getting herself an Emmy nomination to boot. "Where do you go from here, girl?" Oscars? Nobel Prize?
Ms. Carter, you are a miracle. I suspect, however, that neither you -- nor Wynona or Rayland -- have any clue about what is going on inside that devious and surprising mind of yours, Eva. How does a nice girl from Kentucky associate with the trashy circle of persons you have come to know? Is it all that smoking? Did you not behave well in high school? I can only hope that you go to church on Sundays. No one can ask for a "sawed-off shotgun" in such a lovely pianissimo soprano voice. "Thank you, mam."
Perhaps the deepest clue and most revealing insight into this baffling, seductive, almost tragic character, "Eva," is her confession that she will not be made to leave her community by anyone, including "Bo." Bo is the local boss, played brilliantly by an actor whose name I will memorize (is he "Luther Perry"?), in tribute to the film "To Kill a Mockingbird" based on Harper Lee's novel, which is one of my daughter's favorite books and one of her father's favorite films. This fine actor playing "Bo" was born to play "Big Daddy" in "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof."
Eva will not abandon those hills that almost steal the spotlight from Ms. Carter -- I said "almost" -- because they are within her soul and psyche. This is what unites all of these lives played out on both sides of the law: a deep love for the land and freedom associated with this earth, with their ancestors who lie resting in that earth, and the flag still flying proudly over this drama of heroic and unbreakable pioneers.
These are the people who made America and, like it or not, achieved great things in the twentieth century. Never count them out. We are always better in the later rounds. I know a woman very much like "Eva." Come to think of it, I also know a woman like "Wynona." I sympathize with Rayland's dilemma. ("Serendipity, III.")
I am aware of the difference between John Marshall's name and the word "marshal." I prefer that my corrections of inserted "errors" only be made once. At least be creative when inserting "errors" or plagiarizing my writings, mafia members. ("What is it like to be plagiarized?" and "More Censorship and Cybercrime.")
Wednesdays, 10:00 P.M. on FX. Be there! I plan to purchase the first season on DVD. I like the theme music, too. A new female villain is too good to be believed. The women in this mythical Harlan County are fascinating and steal almost every scene. Rayland Gibbons, you are in trouble. I want to buy me a hat, like Rayland's hat, and some boots.
This program -- now entering its second season -- is really an old fashioned western soap opera elevated by highly intelligent writing and exquisite acting to the level of a British costume drama on Masterpiece Theater. We tend to forget that Americans can kick ass in t.v. drama when we want to and get paid for it. It seems like "getting paid for it" makes people "want" to do good work. Is that Republican talk? No, just common sense. "Same thing," our Republican friends say.
The people creating this show -- somebody named "Wendy Calhoun" is the "story editor" (What's that?) and Tony Goldwyn of hallowed Hollywood nobility is a producer (What does a producer do?) who may be the same person as "Graham Yost" -- really want to kick ass and they do. "Stephen Heim" or "Heth" is listed as an "executive producer." I knew an "executive producer" once! I think Mr. Heim also makes ketchup. No, that's "Heinz." Also, this same person named "Graham Yost" is listed as the "developer" of the program.
My theory is that these people are really one little guy in a corner office. I suspect that none of these people attended Yale Univesity. Furthermore, I am positive that none of the characters in the program owns a summer home in Long Island.
"Emmy" nominations are due to several cast members if there is any justice in life and t.v. -- which there may not be. Is it "Emmy" or "Emmie"? Who cares? I don't. "Boyd" (Walton Goggins) as a preacher is not to be missed. The actor creating this wonderful character is "masticating" the scenery and loving it. This man is a new Jack Nicholson and deserves a big time movie career. "Rayland" played by Timothy Olyphant (I think that's how he spells his name) is Harrison Ford, Gary Cooper, John Wayne, Denzel Washington and Clint Eastwood all in one.
I hope Rayland gets to say "yep" at least once. I am told by people who should know that "Raylan" and "Rayland" are equally acceptable. Tim, you gotta see "High Noon." Ed Harris is a director and writer to study with great care. I wonder if Mr. Harris has something to with "Justified"?
Natalie Zea as Wynona ("Wynona, like the actress") is cool, polished, professional and pragmatic. I will check on cast names, relax. Ms. Zea has made Wynona a model of American womanhood, loving -- in my opinion -- one difficult ex-husband and caring for a second, coping with life, strong and gentle, sensual and mature, complex, educated, and sympathetic. Wynona knows how to get her groove on. I found your hairpin, Wynona.
Erika Tazer is Rayland's partner, the "Dana Scully" in the series -- who happens to be a beautiful African-American woman as demonstrated in her red carpet appearances and also someone who will kick your ass.
Finally, "Eva" or "Ava" (also like the actress) is a discovery that shocks viewers. Joelle Carter evokes the same feelings of awe that I experienced when I saw great actresses (or actors) who have earned Oscars since -- like Kate Winslet and Melanie Griffith -- in their first cinematic performances.
Eva is a paradox. Clearly, she is brilliant, sad and pained, talented and burdened with the after-effects of trauma. Overwhelming melancholy floods "Eva's" eyes, instantly, revealing an understanding of tragedy and loss by this character and the artist creating her that is nothing less than heart-breaking in one so young.
Where does this wisdom and compassion come from? A hard life at twenty-one? I am always dazzled by actors who can modulate the colors and nuances in their voices. Yes, "voices" is a plural word for any actor. Is Ms. Carter a singer? Music must be a big part of Ms. Carter's life.
I cannot imagine where this sadness comes from in a beautiful young woman's life. This capacity to empathize with suffering is shared with Ms. Carter's distinguished thespian predecessors that I mentioned and may reflect the actor's Southern heritage. America's once "Confederate" nation -- as Mr. Faulkner explained to an interviewer -- understands pain and tragedy whereas the rest of America often does not.
Ms. Carter is destined to play Laura in "The Glass Menagerie" and Shakespeare's "Ophelia." Volumes of rich Southern poetry float into one's mind as "Eva" steps on screen:
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me --
Yes! -- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my ANNABEL LEE.
Thank you, Mr. Edgar Allan Poe. The ability that I find most rare in any actor is the gift of conveying multiple emotions with a single glance at the camera while compelling the audience's identification with a character's pain. Although it is too soon to tell, I suspect that Ms. Carter is blessed with this talent at the level of genius. Please do some theater work in the classics, Ms. Carter. You will be a better actor/actress because of such experiences. The rest is luck and opportunities. "Oh, for a muse of fire! ..." Or Joanne Woodward (a Southern Gal!) in Paris Blues, wearing a little black dress to torture the men in the audience -- and Paul Newman.
I cannot help conjuring a Hamlet featuring this cast in "Elsinore, New Mexico." Rayland is "Hamlet Jones," U.S. Marshal. His dad in the series is "Polonious"; his step-mom is "Gertrude"; his boss is Fortinbras; Boyd is Laertes. To go kinky with it, Rayland's contemporary, Wynona, would be Gertrude. Sparks would fly. Shakespeare's long shadow appears in the finale to the first season as "fathers and sons" contest the "crown" of Harlan County, Kentucky. This show makes you want to see Kentucky.
I suspect that Wendy Calhoun is both women in this series, a younger and wilder versus an older and (somewhat) wiser version of herself are set against each other. Any scene involving those two women, Wynona and Eva, is not to be missed. I recommend Flannery O'Connor's The Violent Bear it Away (New York: Signet, 1960). These characters may have emerged from the ghost of Ms. O'Connor's pen and the old Catholic aristocracy in the South. Pass me a mimosa.
This drama is derived from an Elmore Leonard story, establishing excellence at the outset, and it is beautifully crafted by persons who know and understand these rural and difficult lives unfolding in the green hills of Kentucky. ("Gore country.")
There is no insulting disdain or condescension conveyed to these people, whose nobility and articulateness, moral struggles and deep humanity are made evident in every script. The show returns to the airwaves in February, 2011. Boyd is reading William Somerset Maugham's Of Human Bondage, a novel drawn from the fourth book of Spinoza's "Ethics" that dramatizes the argument of that great philosophical work concerning the need to balance emotion with reason in moral life. Good luck, Boyd.
People from these beautiful hills -- a landscape clearly internalized by the characters -- are not depicted as stupid, racists, rednecks, or cartoons. They are as complex, good or evil, mysterious and unpredictable as anyone you know.
I cannot avoid fantasizing about any number of alternative productions with these characters whose chemistry is dazzling. This show is way better written and acted than "Grey's Anatomy" or almost everything else that I have seen on television with the possible exception of the best USA programs, like "Burn Notice" or "White Collar." Once more, Mr. Poe, please:
Beloved! amid the earnest woes
That crowd around my earthly path --
(Drear path, alas! where grows
Not even one lonely rose) --
My soul at least a solace hath
In dreams of thee, and therein knows
An Eden of bland repose.
And thus my memory is to me
Like some enchanted far-off isle
In some tumultuous sea --
Some ocean throbbing far and free
With storms -- but where meanwhile
Serenest skies continually
Just o'er that one bright island smile.
Rayland's boss at the U.S. Marshal's Office is a typical harried federal official, resembling Bill Richardson, former Governor of New Mexico, and official under President Clinton -- I believe he was "National Security Advisor." He copes with the challenges, including supervising Rayland, and does a good job in a quietly efficient way. ("'Inception': A Movie Review.")
The Miami Cubanoid mafiosos are as loathsome as the local variety of gangsters and are depicted quite accurately, as I can attest. There is a Cuban-American Assistant U.S. Attorney, Mr. Vasquez, who is pretty good and decent, like Rayland's boss. Accents identify the actors as does the Miami setting. Boringly, Vasquez reminds me of me -- except I am nicer than he is and better looking, if somewhat older, sporting distinguished gray in my neatly shorn locks of hair. No one is a stereotype. African-Americans make cameo appearances and more, also being shown as human beings displaying all of the ills that flesh is heir to. I reach, again, for my "Collected Poems of Edgar Allan Poe" and "Plays of Tennessee Williams" after every show.
Aside from the ongoing drama of good guys versus bad guys -- with occasional red neck bullies in bars and insane judges thrown in for those who crave them in tribute to John Kennedy Toole's A Confederacy of Dunces -- there is the subtle and sensitive tension between the feelings of the protagonists caught in a kind of love triangle against what they perceive as their duties. The best review of Mr. Toole's Rabelesian work is provided by Anthony Burgess. Contrast "Faith in a Bottle" (reviewing Rabelais, by M.A. Screech) with "Life After Murder" (reviewing A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole) in Anthony Burgess, But Do Blondes Prefer Gentlemen? (New York: McGraw Hill, 1986), p. 255, then p. 409.
Eva will break the heart of every man she meets EVERYWHERE on this planet. Not every woman in America can say that she has shot one man dead; stolen the heart of a U.S. marshal; engaged in a solo war against the Dixie Mafia (and is even winning on points in my score card!), while getting herself an Emmy nomination to boot. "Where do you go from here, girl?" Oscars? Nobel Prize?
Ms. Carter, you are a miracle. I suspect, however, that neither you -- nor Wynona or Rayland -- have any clue about what is going on inside that devious and surprising mind of yours, Eva. How does a nice girl from Kentucky associate with the trashy circle of persons you have come to know? Is it all that smoking? Did you not behave well in high school? I can only hope that you go to church on Sundays. No one can ask for a "sawed-off shotgun" in such a lovely pianissimo soprano voice. "Thank you, mam."
Perhaps the deepest clue and most revealing insight into this baffling, seductive, almost tragic character, "Eva," is her confession that she will not be made to leave her community by anyone, including "Bo." Bo is the local boss, played brilliantly by an actor whose name I will memorize (is he "Luther Perry"?), in tribute to the film "To Kill a Mockingbird" based on Harper Lee's novel, which is one of my daughter's favorite books and one of her father's favorite films. This fine actor playing "Bo" was born to play "Big Daddy" in "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof."
Eva will not abandon those hills that almost steal the spotlight from Ms. Carter -- I said "almost" -- because they are within her soul and psyche. This is what unites all of these lives played out on both sides of the law: a deep love for the land and freedom associated with this earth, with their ancestors who lie resting in that earth, and the flag still flying proudly over this drama of heroic and unbreakable pioneers.
These are the people who made America and, like it or not, achieved great things in the twentieth century. Never count them out. We are always better in the later rounds. I know a woman very much like "Eva." Come to think of it, I also know a woman like "Wynona." I sympathize with Rayland's dilemma. ("Serendipity, III.")
I am aware of the difference between John Marshall's name and the word "marshal." I prefer that my corrections of inserted "errors" only be made once. At least be creative when inserting "errors" or plagiarizing my writings, mafia members. ("What is it like to be plagiarized?" and "More Censorship and Cybercrime.")
Wednesdays, 10:00 P.M. on FX. Be there! I plan to purchase the first season on DVD. I like the theme music, too. A new female villain is too good to be believed. The women in this mythical Harlan County are fascinating and steal almost every scene. Rayland Gibbons, you are in trouble. I want to buy me a hat, like Rayland's hat, and some boots.
Monday, April 19, 2010
The Allegory of the Cave.
June 28, 2010 at 4:38 P.M. "Errors" in this text and others that had been left alone for a while have been reinserted. I will do my best to cope with the new harassments and violations of copyright. I suspect Cuban-American fanatics of this sabotage and other offenses. ("What is it like to be censored in America?" and "How censorship works in America.")
April 22, 2010 at 11:35 A.M. Spacing was affected and other "errors" were inserted in this text several times during the first day that the work was posted. I cannot say how many other essays have been vandalized or censored. I will make corrections as quickly as possible. ("How Censorship Works in America.")
This story is a birthday card for "M." Happy Birthday, May 24. Also for the Gentle Portia, February 27.
"At five o'clock in the afternoon, in the capital of the Province of Y____, a tall man with an umbrella was knocking at the door of the governor's residence."
K answered the door. His life would never be same after that day. K had been employed in the Department of Identity Assignment for twenty-one years. There had never before been a serious error made by anyone in his office. The section of the Ministry devoted to Identity Creation, Assignment, and Reassignment was unforgiving of errors. The only penalty for such a lapse would be death. A visit by an assistant to the Minister was a most distressing sign. The governor entrusted important matters to K because of his discretion and efficiency as well as absolute obedience. These were the primary duties of citizens in the Republic. Every schoolchild memorized these words from earliest childhood: "Discretion, Efficiency, Obedience."
K wore a gray pinstripe suit, white shirt, dark blue necktie. K owned thirty-five identical suits with matching shirts and blue ties. Men in the Ministry were permitted to wear red neckties. Women were excluded from the Ministry, of course, even secretarial and reception services were performed by men in gray suits. At the highest levels of power there were a few women among the Guardians whose exceptional intellectual merits made it impossible to exclude from authority. These female Guardians were known as "defective women." The officials in the Ministry of Freudian Repairs said these women were really "inadequate males." Only executive level officials were permitted to wear red neckties. All Guardians dressed in business suits and wore red ties.
K dreamed of wearing a red necktie by his fiftieth birthday. K was only weeks away from that special occasion. Until now, a promotion seemed likely. A single catastrophe in his office could destroy his career. Loss of his career objectives and prospects concerned K more than the possibility of death. Death was merely identity reassignment. Career reassignment could mean expulsion to sewage services and maintenance provision for city dwellers. Immigrants performed such tasks while wearing electronic monitoring headbands under twenty-four hour camera surveillance from the Ministry of Peace and Happiness. Anything would be preferable to such a demotion.
The gentleman from the Ministry's Chief Office was polite, but somewhat cold. He wore a good suit, red silk tie (this meant he was next in line for the highest office in the land), and provided a sealed envelope to K. He was a man of 35, born to the red tie class, a graduate of University 1 in law and politics. He began by introducing himself to K:
"I am very pleased to meet you, Mr. K."
His handshake was very firm. They sat in the library of K's section.
"My name is B. I am afraid that we have encountered a bit of a difficulty in the front office. We need your help. This assignment and great responsibility entrusted to you will allow us to determine whether you are the sort of man we want in the highest echelons of power, making difficult decisions."
K was disturbed and expectant, also pleased that the error had apparently not been made by himself or his subordinates.
"It appears that the Minister has issued a death certificate for a Miss M. As you know, this is a routine matter that is ordinarily handled by subordinates. However, it is reported -- confidentially, of course, and most inconveniently -- that Miss M has not, in fact, died."
K was stunned to absorb this piece of information. The Minister had never before made a mistake of this magnitude that anyone had recorded or known of in all of the history of the Republic.
"Naturally, the fact that this unruly and radical young woman is still alive must not be allowed to obscure the fact that she is, legally, quite dead."
"Naturally." K found this logic irrefutable. The official understanding of law in the Republic was positivistic and formalist. All persons trained in law were to become legal scientists applying the rules of the society in an impersonal, objective, and neutral manner regardless of outcome.
Legal officials must be regarded as social engineers who keep the pipes and plumbing of society functioning properly.
"We must instruct her -- this M person -- to adjust to her new status and serve the Republic. She must be ... persuaded to accept an identity reassignment."
"Of course, sir."
"This perverse young woman refuses to cooperate with our confidential requests -- none of which have been expressed in writing, needless to say, and they are not part of the official file, although a private record has been kept of these events. We must resolve this unpleasant inconvenience and remove the shadow of imperfection that has fallen upon our land before the Minister forms a new government in six months' time."
"I see, sir."
"Yes, now you seem to be an 'up and comer'! I know that we may place this matter safely in your hands. You need not distress the Minister with grimy details, obviously, while ensuring that legal order is restored. All rules must be obeyed, thus ensuring that perfect justice prevails in the Republic -- as it always has and always will."
K repeated this slogan, automatically, from memory: "As it always has and always will."
"Good. Well, then there is nothing more to say. This conversation never took place. I was never here. If you quote my remarks, naturally, I will deny having made them. I am sure that you appreciate that such transparency in our legal proceedings is a statutory requirement for a man in my position. I have always lived by the highest professional and personal ethical standards."
"I admire your integrity, sir."
The men shook hands as they parted. K opened the envelope from the Ministry. He discovered a list of required steps by which provision of proof of the death of experson "M" would be provided to the Republic by K's office which was "deemed" to have issued the original certificate of death for this unsavory person.
A meeting would be called after the receipt of such proof to determine promotions for employees and administrators. K was among the persons whose future would be considered at that meeting. An address for experson "M" was provided. This matter was to be kept in the strictest confidence. The letter was unsigned.
For the rest of the day K was unable to concentrate on his work. He ate very little, went home early, then sat alone reading reports and enjoying the 24 hour sports channel. There was a 24 hour cartoon channel. There was no news on television. The news was no longer reported after the attainment of perfection in the Republic when history had officially ended.
The next morning K dressed in a brand new gray suit, crisp white shirt with button down collar, dark blue tie. His shoes were polished to mirror-like perfection, a neatly folded handkerchief was placed in his jacket pocket. K lived alone. He was meticulous about such details of self-presentation. He drove a new E-car which had been recharged overnight. He listened to generic muzak on his car stereo. After providing the address to his vehicular computer, K sat in the back seat and studied the file which he had accessed from his home network:
" ... The object of this report is a female, 50 years of age, sandy blond hair cut short, green eyes, and approximately 5' 6" in height. The only name by which she is known to the Ministry is 'M.' Reports of controversial opinions, deliberate lack of docility when associating with males, and refusal of inclination for domestic duties has called this person to the attention of the authorities on several occasions. Her criminal dossier includes 'irreverence for authority' and 'free thinking.' The worst offenses are of a pathological sexual nature, including amorous relations outside of wedlock for which the penalty may be death -- except where a partner in the sexual act is a member of the Ministry, of course. Furthermore, M has been found in possession of contraband items, including books published before the Great Perfection."
K understood quickly why this person's life had been cut short by "natural causes" at the request of the Ministry.
M is the sort of offender whose very existence called into question the progress in official "niceness" achieved so painfully by the Republic's leaders. All books existing before the Great Perfection had been removed from the shelves at Barnes & Noble book centers. There were no other booksellers in the Republic. K brought a legally prescribed dosage of hemlock for M.
The address provided in the Ministry's file was an abandoned warehouse in the East Village section outside of the "nice" part of the city where "good and normal" persons (like K) live "nicely" while never interacting with their equally nice neighbors.
Criminals congregated in these East Village streets: sex offenders, artists -- including actors! -- radical philosophers and other unruly persons who refused the blessings of normality and "niceness." One should never associate with actors as they are transmitters of something called the "Show Business Bug."
M lived at 101 Robert Downey Boulevard, Apartment 5A. Upon arrival, K's vehicle parked itself. He looked nervously around him at the sketchy neighborhood, rang the bell which was broken, then knocked loudly on the door hoping to be buzzed into the lobby. Someone opened a window, then shouted a greeting:
"What do you want?"
A woman was staring down at him from a fifth floor window.
"I am from 'Identity Assignment,' and I have a matter of great importance to discuss with you ... if you will kindly buzz me in."
K held up his badge and identification for the woman to see. The window was shut. K stood at the door waiting. Minutes passed and nothing happened. Some dirty men and a ragged child seemed to gather at the opposite side of the street. K smiled politely, held his briefcase up to his chest, and stood very still.
One did not wish to encourage any form of conversation with such people. Many had Norwegian ancestry. It is common knowledge that persons of Northern European lineage are dangerous and unreliable. Many are habitually dirty and may be drug users.
Suddenly, the old door opened. A woman stood before him displaying an insolent smile. She wore an old man's hat on the back of her head, a sleeveless t-shirt that said: "Rolling Stones -- Some Girls!" This apparition had a cigarette tucked behind her left ear, wore baggy denims, red sneakers, and ancient-looking spectacles that she removed, slowly, while staring up and down at K.
"What are you dressed up for?"
"I am not sure that I understand your meaning. Are you Ms. M?"
"Never mind. Come on in. Yes, I'm M."
They entered a lobby that had been painted by different local artists featuring massive political murals and some obscene abstract images. K made an effort to shut his eyes to this obscene material. Abstract expressionism was among the styles of painting outlawed after the Great Perfection, when "capitalist realism" became the official style of the Republic's licensed artists, all of whom were nevertheless to be excluded from life within the Republic's borders because, obviously, artists distract citizens from contemplation of the great and eternal perfections -- like beauty, good, law, justice, and higher solvency.
They entered a small apartment on the fifth floor after climbing the stairs. There were few pieces of furniture in a large central room, some original and fascinating artwork on the walls such as K had never seen before, the antique and fully restored furniture was complimented by fresh flowers.
There were several well-stocked bookshelves that had not been hidden before his arrival.
"Most of these books are prohibited because they cause cancer, you know."
K tried to sound reasonable and patient with this experson.
M responded: "I don't believe that books cause cancer."
K was shocked. "I am sure that the correlation is scientifically certain."
There was something very disturbing about her smile.
"Have a seat. Take a load off your feet." M sat on the floor.
"It is illegal not to own a television set. I do not see your t.v."
M smiled, wickedly: "I don't like t.v."
"I am not in law enforcement," K said, "You can be arrested for removing your television. Do you realize that? Anyway, I am here for a different reason. I do not wish to detain you any longer than necessary."
"Would you like a glass of water? You look kind of nervous."
"No, thank you. You see, the Guardians of the Republic -- through their servants in the Ministry of Identity, Goodness and Justice -- have determined that you are dead. You died after a long and painful illness which first produced a mental crisis causing delusions of a vile and detestable political nature. As a result of this determination by the Ministry, which has been officially certified in triplicate -- I have a copy of the decision here for you -- your continued living and political activism is highly upsetting because it may alter the perfection of our flawless society. I am sure that you will understand the necessity to comply with this decision applying the provisions of Rule 101, subsection 10 (b), 1. I have a copy here of the relevant Rules of the Republic."
"Are you telling me that I should kill myself because one of you morons made a mistake by listing me as dead when I am indisputably alive?"
"You don't really appreciate the complexity of the situation. You're looking at this in a very selfish way. You should try to think of it as your civic duty to kill yourself -- 'giving back' to our wonderful society -- by complying with all laws even if the laws are unfair or unjust. If the Laws themselves were to enter this room, and say to you that, 'because you have lived in the Republic and enjoyed the benefits of society, you have bound yourself to abide by the laws whatever you may think of them.' You would have to agree with that statement and accept their determination."
"What laws? The Republic promises justice, freedom, equality. Officially, no rule that violates those fundamental values has validity of any kind. I am not required to obey idiotic, false or absurd and self-contradictory laws because they are not really laws."
K had never encountered these arguments before, nor had he met a woman who refused to be deferential to his official pronouncements. This was heresy. Much of what M said was offensive to the principles of the Republic. K was rendered speechless by these pronouncements.
"You just have to comply with this determination because it is an official command with the right pedigree carrying a sanction that has been handed down to us by the legitimate body entrusted with law-making power in our society for execution."
This was the language in the official decision concerning legitimacy handed down by the Supreme Tribunal, unanimously. Justices Holmes, Hobbes, Bentham, Hart, and Posner "concurred in part and dissented in part." These justices always "concurred in part and dissented in part."
All decisions of the Supreme Tribunal were deemed unanimous because dissenters were not counted since they were immediately replaced with newly appointed justices -- after being executed, naturally.
"Did you memorize all of that? Or did you just come up with that by yourself?" That infuriating smile. M seemed to think carefully about this pronouncement by K. She rose from her seated position and walked around the room, slowly, then she opened the door to her apartment and shouted down to the others in the building. Crito lived downstairs. He worked off the books as a composer and musician. Diotima is a poet who lives on M's floor and does translations on the side. She loved these discussions. Several dancers who live in one apartment upstairs also enjoy these arguments and decided to join in: Agathon, Polus, Thrasymachus (who sells real estate), together with a graduate student in philosophy and mathematics, Plato.
"I hope you don't mind if some my friends join our chat. We like this better than t.v." That impertinent smile seemed to linger, disturbingly, on her lips.
"Are any of them ... contagious?" K held his briefcase to his chest.
"No," M said with a chuckle, "but the talk becomes very addictive and seductive. Does the word 'seductive' disturb you?"
K turned his head and coughed. "No."
"Now then," M said. "I am puzzled by this idea of law and rules. You seem to regard these terms as interchangeable. I am also concerned to examine the idea of justice as having something to do with all of this nonsense."
She motioned for K to sit, which he did: "You have been informed of an official determination that I have died. Is that correct?"
K said: "Yes."
"Very well. Would you agree that persons who are dead rarely engage in philosophical discussions?"
"Yes."
"Fine. Now I have verified -- by examining them from this distance -- the documents in your hands, in triplicate copies, suggesting that the birth date of 'M' is my birth date. Let us assume that this 'death certificate' refers -- or seeks to refer -- to me, M."
"All right."
"We can take it as a starting point for our discussion that the following propositions are true: 1) I am 'M'; 2) I am, in fact, very much alive, biologically, and (perhaps) legally; 3) a certificate ostensibly meeting all of the official requirements of legal validity establishes, according to the state, that I am dead; 4) there is an a priori obligation to obey all laws meeting the minimum conditions of legal validity for all citizens of the Republic, and I am a citizen of the Republic; 5) this raises the question of whether this certificate of death for 'M' satisfies those minimum conditions in order to require my obedience or acceptance of its provisions. Would you agree, Mr. K, that this states the issue before us?"
K was stunned: "Yes, roughly."
"Mr. K, have you been a party to the issuance of certificates of death for other persons in the past?"
"Yes."
"Is it true that there are criteria established and defined in the law to determine when a person has died?"
"Yes, very specific criteria. We try to be highly precise and accurate, neutral and objective at all times. Nothing is ever personal for us. Please believe that."
"I assure you that I fully believe in your 'impersonality.' Can you say what are the criteria for establishing, legally speaking, when a person has died?"
K coughed, again, and seemed baffled. He was familiar with the applicable laws, but he had never been required to engage in original thinking or to explain the laws.
"Well, medical experts have provided a set of objective and neutral criteria that say, exactly, when someone is dead. For example, coronary failure may produce a kind of death, although other bodily organs may continue to function and a patient may be kept artificially ... 'operational.' ... I guess that's the word."
"I see. If you recall, our focus was upon the death of 'persons.' We will deal with this troublesome term, 'person,' later. For now, please understand that my question refers not to the functioning of a body or its organs, but to the living person. Notice that I am insisting on a distinction between a human body and a person. When is a person dead, Mr. K?"
"According to the latest promulgated rules -- I have copies in triplicate here of the latest updates and pocket parts for the law books -- 'brain death' is the criteria for the death of a person."
"What is brain death?" M seemed to smile directly at Mr. K in a most disturbing and annoying way. "Does it usually coincide with mental death?"
"Brain death means that a person's mind is shut off, like a t.v. set that no longer works, or a light that goes dark."
"Do you mean, Mr. K, that a person stops reading and thinking, holding and expressing opinions, experiencing things?"
"Yes, among other things."
"Is it possible for cerebral functions to remain operative in a person with limited or no mental capacity or ability?"
"Yes. I guess so."
"The criteria in the laws seems to concern the cessation of ALL brain function?"
"Yes."
"Accordingly, if the brain of a person 'functions,' at all, then that person must be alive -- is that right?"
"Yes."
"We can tell that a brain functions from mental activities as well as physical criteria, such as movement or breathing, correct?"
"Yes."
M took in a deep breath. Strolled around the room, slowly, never taking her eyes from Mr. K.
"Would you agree, Mr. K, that I am speaking with you?"
"Yes."
"Do you observe that I am walking around my room?"
There was laughter from the other persons in the room.
"Yes."
"Do you deny that cerebral operations must be taking place in my body in order for me to be performing these elaborate physical operations that you seem to observe?"
"Yes, I suppose so. I mean, no, I don't deny that you're doing the things I see you doing. At least, I must believe that you are doing these things."
"If the criteria of death in accordance with the laws is cessation of all cerebral operations, and if it is clear that, as to my own cerebral operations (poor things, surely), that at least some 'functions' still seem to be taking place, then would you say that it appears reasonably certain that I do not meet the legal criteria of death under the laws?"
"This is very troubling. However, I must admit that you are logically correct. You are not legally dead."
"If I do not meet these legal criteria concerning the death of persons, then it must be the case that the certificate of my death was issued in error. Being false or an error, this certificate cannot be binding on me, nor upon the institutions of society, would you agree?"
"Yes."
"Furthermore, a certificate based on fraud or error, or a self-contradictory law, is void ab initio, is that right?"
"Yes, that's right."
"And even if you wonder whether your sense faculties are altered -- or whether you are under the illusion that I am walking around this room even if I am actually dead -- this wondering would not alter the logical operation involved since your impression of the death certificate and of your task must also be based on the information in your mind, derived from your senses, as regards the material world, and you are relying upon that information (and your mind) to discuss the matter with me. Hence, you must rely on the reports of your mind, to the same extent, when that initial 'knowledge' of my death is challenged by me. You are using and relying upon your fallible senses to determine whether I am dead or alive, whether you are holding a death certificate in your hands and what it says. Do you understand?"
"Yes. I am afraid so."
"Notice that these observations are independent of the reality or truth of propositions -- propositions, as distinct from sentences, that exist entirely apart from individual sense knowledge -- in logic. It will always be 'true' that 2 + 2 = 4, even for the person who has not yet made this discovery. This proposition simply communicates a truth that is unperceived by, or unknown to, that non-mathematical person."
Mr. K was about to say more when one of the guests in the room seemed to lift himself from his chair with emotion and disdain for the proceedings.
"Before we turn to the certificate of death that has been issued by the Minister -- I know him, by the way -- and why it is legally invalid or a nullity, I see that Thrasymachus is anxious to interrupt. Do you wish to say something Thrasymachus?"
Thrasymachus was a large, cigar munching, Guayavera-wearing person of indeterminate gender from New Jersey or Miami Beach, who spoke very loudly and was obnoxious to the participants in these discussions:
"That's all bullshit!' It's all about power. You're dead if they say you're dead."
Thrasymachus walked to the center of the room and uttered his remarks in a booming baritone voice: "Besides, you are asking K to rely on his senses. Everybody knows that observations and sense data -- that's all uncertain stuff. He could be delusional, like the Communists! Everything's relative!"
"Well, thank you for that disturbing pronouncement." M smiled at Thrasymachus. She gestured for Thrasymachus to sit and try a piece of cheese cake. Thrasymachus enjoyed altering the spacing or otherwise defacing the writings of his "intellectual superiors" -- by removing a single letter from a word, perhaps, or turning off the computer of an envied rival.
"We seem to have discovered something that is not relative. Your principle that everything is relative, Thrasymachus, is held by you as a general objective and universal maxim, right?"
Thrasymachus nodded while munching on a piece of cheese cake.
"Well, in that case, it would be a non-relative truth for the proponent of a relativist claim that 'everything is relative.' And this would be a self-contradictory claim, an absurdity -- like a living person's argument that he or she is alive despite an official pronouncement of that person's demise. Isn't that true?"
Silence. Thrasymachus gets up to leave in anger. M reaches out to him and smiles:
"Join us. Stay with us. Let us examine these objections. We are engaged in a very important activity, Thrasymachus. We need your contribution to the discussion. Incidentally, Thrasymachus, if you say that this claim by you is also 'relative,' then it is not binding on others and we may ignore it. In either case, there appears to be a slight difficulty for you as an 'absolute relativist,' would you agree?"
Thrasymachus only made a lewd gesture and threatened to "assassinate" everyone, after inserting new "errors" in everyone's writings. Thrasymachus said: "I am going to kill you!"
M was undisturbed: "Sense data is a troubling concept. Are concepts mere sense data?"
"I don't know." K was baffled.
"Mr. K may certainly be mistaken in his sense perceptions when he observes me. Although, I am sure that K is in no doubts concerning at least some of the information that his senses are supplying to him about me at this very instant. Let us ponder this dilemma."
"Our senses seem to provide information concerning 'appearances,' would you agree?"
K nodded.
"We use our eyes to see, fingers to touch objects, or other beings in the world -- isn't that so?"
"Yes."
"After all, these faculties for perceiving the world or gathering the data of our senses are fallible, aren't they?"
"What do you mean?"
"Our eyes may be defective. We may see a blurry universe, one without colors, or we may be blind."
"I agree."
"Besides, the world that we perceive with the senses comes to us dripping with the categories of our faculties for sense perception. The world that we know with the senses reeks of ourselves, don't you agree?"
"How do you mean?"
"Well, taste, vision, touch and so on are qualities of ourselves and not of the world. The world disclosed by the senses is in 'flux,' changing all the time, uncertain, blurry, mixed with our emotions and distorting perspectives. Hence, it cannot yield certainty or eternal and objective knowledge, isn't that true?"
"I suppose so."
"On the other hand, mathematics does seem to provide necessary truth that is not dependent on our flawed senses for it is approached via the rational faculty only."
"What do you mean by 'independent of our senses'?"
"For example, the proposition 2 + 2 = 4 is true, necessarily, given the definition of the concepts being used -- concepts of number -- and must always be true, everywhere, regardless of anyone's perspective, isn't that so?"
"But don't numbers come from us? Aren't they based on sense data?"
"What the numbers describe or relations of logical necessity are 'real' -- indeed, necessarily real -- even if we use different symbols to describe these relations that some of us 'discover' in reason and do not merely 'invent.' They seem to have a fundamental connection with the human linguistic capacity that allows for intellection. There is something objectively 'correct' about these mathematical propositions that does not depend on sense data or even upon their discovery by all of us. Do you agree?"
"I am not sure."
"Part of what we mean by a person has to do with possessing this a priori capacity to establish such 'trascendental and/or logical connections.' Among the persons outlawed in the Republic are philosophers -- like Noam Chomsky and scientist Roger Penrose, thinkers like Christopher Peacocke and others exploring these issues for the Resistance. Did you know that?"
"No."
"It was, is, and will always be true that 2 + 2 = 4. This was true before we possessed these symbols, or were even aware of these relations, given the meaning of the concepts deployed in this proposition. Hence, there is a demonstrable truth revealed by such numerical relations that is not dependent on our flawed human intellects and perceptual capacities. This is a truth in which we may participate. This is a kind of truth that is instantiated in us through our participation in mathematical reasoning -- would you agree, Mr. K?"
"I suppose I must agree to that. It doesn't seem right."
"Why does it not seem right?"
"I guess because you can't just 'go and look' to determine mathematical truths. Like, if I wanted to grasp this truth in my hand, I could not do so. I want to 'touch' truth. I want to find it in my backyard, or see it under a microscope. I wonder whether sense data comes first and then the concepts are formulated from that sense data? I mean, can't we just go and look for truth?"
"Why would we need and reach for concepts in order to understand the world or ourselves?"
"I do not know."
"Why are we predisposed to need, seek, and deploy these abstract concepts in order to experience certainty or any unified knowledge? Are there many ways of 'looking' for truth? The connective tissues of the mental world that make meaningful experience possible are not 'in' the empirical world and they cannot be exclusively 'in' us or they would fail to establish necessary connections that allow us to explain and predict trajectories or natural phenomena, that is, not only how things are but how they must be in the future. These connective meanings are like an ocean in which we dip our buckets of truth."
"I see what you mean."
"Why is such conceptual knowledge and communication essential to what we are? A moose feels no need to develop the concept of number or space, time, or category, but a moose may have the same sense data that we do, feels the cold and heat, hunger or thirst. I wonder why that is true?"
"I do not know."
"It must be something about our 'natures' or essences, as persons, that makes us crave understanding because we are capable of achieving it. We need to understand and know the world as well as ourselves. Suppose that I take two coins from my pocket and place them on the floor before you. I take another two coins and also place them on the floor. If I then ask you to count the total number of coins on the floor. What is the total number of coins on the floor before you?"
"Four."
"Does the mental operation or logical process of deduction that you have performed seem compelling?"
"Yes."
"Are you in any doubt concerning this conclusion?"
"No. But doesn't this calculation also involve my imperfect mind?"
"The calculation -- as performed by you -- involves your mental faculties and intellect. However, the relation disclosed by your intellect, based on the concepts applied, comes before your use of intelligence in the effort. What is more, you are involved in an act of 'recollection' as you engage in this effort, since what is disclosed seems (and must be) inescapably true, again, as a matter of the meaning of the concepts involved in this effort. It is as if you have always known this logical calculation to be true -- and must have known it to be true -- once it is clearly demonstrated to be the case that 2 + 2 = 4. Isn't that so, Mr. K?"
"I do not see any way around what you say."
"It appears that the truth of this proposition is not relative. It must be the case that 2 + 2 = 4. Do you deny this?"
"No."
"Furthermore, this truth is a priori. This is not a truth revealed by our senses a posteriori. We do not derive this truth inductively, from perusing the empirical world, but rather we apply our intellects to 'calculations of necessity' -- calculations yielding certainty by definition based on concepts inherent in us that we apply to the world, deductively, just as we communicate based on a linguistic capacity that is natural for persons and that is developed in languages. Again, this may be the same natural capacity for connectedness with others and the world. Does this seem rational to you?"
"Yes."
"For the present you may disregard the recently challenged doubts concerning the a priori/a posteriori distinction laid down by W.V. Quine. My friend Jacques Derrida 'rejects the idea (the empiricist confusion, as he would call it) that we could ever claim rational warrant for suspending the ground rules of bivalent logic in response to some anomaly turned up in the course of scientific investigation, or some conflict between a well-entrenched theory and a discrepant empirical finding. Still less would he accept the Quinian dictum that changes in our logic should best be viewed as a matter of pragmatic convenience, or of working an intelligible structure into the chaos of sensory stimuli while seeking to avoid such conflicts by making adjustments where needed and thereby conserving maximum coherence across the entire fabric of beliefs-held-true.' Do you see Derrida's point?"
Christopher Norris, Fiction, Philosophy and Literary Theory: Will the Real Saul Kripke Please Stand Up? (New York & London: Continuum, 2007), p. 16.
"I guess so." K said.
"What is even more mysterious is that these mathematical truths turn out to describe the workings of the 'real' universe, again, or the language of nature, so that on the basis of this mathematical truth we can describe the trajectory of a star or make calculations in physics that will measure the workings of natural forces in the past or future. Hence, they seem to say something 'real' and 'true' about the elegant order in the universe of everyday life as well as within ourselves. We are mysteriously 'fitted' to understand the order underlying all things. Nature shares in these concepts with us. Moreover, we are a part of the order disclosed in nature. This 'disclosing' is, indeed, part of what is ordered by (or in) nature. Are you astonished, Mr. K?"
Ian Stewart, Nature's Numbers: The Unreal Reality of Mathematics (New York: Basic Books, 1995), pp. 107-127.
"I never thought of knowledge that way."
"I am sure of that. What is even more amazing is that this mathematical knowledge -- like yourself, Mr. K! -- is very 'impersonal' for all rational agents. This knowledge applies everywhere, reflecting a beauty in the universal order that seems overwhelming. Yet we discover this beauty and elegance also in ourselves, as each of us is a part of the universe. Would you agree?"
"But isn't this elegance and beauty in us, not in the universe?"
"Well, if we are in the universe, and if the natural order, intelligence and beauty that I describe is in us, then it must also be 'in' the universe. You see, the spacial metaphors break down, at this point, because we are describing the networks of meanings that make ourselves and all reasoning possible. Do you understand?"
"I think so."
"Just as the breakdown of our physics and equations projected on to thought experiments concerning the big bang and the instants immediately after that event is also a truth-claim based on mathematical knowledge, even the denials of particular truth-claims contain this truth-capacity -- i.e., bivalent logic and must do so, as we have learned from Kant -- making the concept of truth much more pervasive as well as problematic than we once thought. Do you follow this reasoning?"
"Yes."
Plato rises from his seat and walks to the window. M catches his eye. There is a secret smile on both their lips, a special intimacy that they share. M lifts an eyebrow, offering an invitation. Plato shakes his head, smiles, saying (silently) "no." M understands and turns, again, to Mr. K:
"And you approve of 'impersonality' in legal affairs and the operations of state power, don't you?"
"Yes. Law is a science."
"Then you must approve of impersonality, objectivity, and universality in our knowledge claims, don't you?"
"I guess so."
"We have determined, however, that I do not seem to meet the objective and impersonal criteria of death under the relevant laws, which is brain death. But then, the death certificate issued concerning me must be inaccurate, factually, so as to fall short of legal validity. Do you agree, Mr. K?"
"I guess I must accept that."
"If the death certificate is invalid -- void ab initio -- if it is false, then you cannot enforce it. I have no obligation to abide by this certificate of death. Legally, it is nothing. Is that correct?"
"I guess so."
Do you, Mr. K, have an obligation to obey the laws?"
"Yes, of course."
"Do you think of yourself as a 'person,' despite your admiration for impersonality?"
"Yes, I do."
"But we have learned something concerning persons during the course of our discussion that may now allow us to attempt a definition of this troublesome concept, 'person.' What is a person?"
"What do you mean that we have learned something concerning persons?"
M walked over to Mr. K, sat on the arm of his chair, and whispered: "Persons need to make connections with one another and to find overarching meanings. Relationships between, say, 2 + 2 that equals 4 must be discovered (or constructed) if they are to be known by us. Relationships between men and women, all persons, must also be constructed and discovered, necessarily, as a matter of the sociability that we take for granted in our 'societies.' Perhaps there are constitutive relations that are even more essential to human nature? We need others to 'become the persons we are,' Mr. K. Persons are other-regarding and -defined beings."
At this point, Diotima, a husky and dark-hued brunette stepped forward: "There is something about persons that requires them to 'connect.' This is above and beyond the level of rights and duties to which M refers. This means ethical life and love -- Eros -- must be fundamental to persons. Would you agree, Mr. K?"
Diotima sat on the other side of Mr. K causing him to look at one woman, then the other. Mr. K began to perspire: "I suppose that's true. I ... I like people."
"I am sure that you do." Diotima said. "But do you 'like' loving, Mr. K?"
"I am not sure that this is a proper question for a civil servant to answer while on duty."
M drew very close to poor Mr. K and whispered: "Are there obligations beyond political or ethical duties, Mr.K? Intimate obligations?"
Agathon thought not. He objected that the state has no claim on my inner life and cannot tell me to be (or do) "good," only "right action" is enjoined by the government. As long as I abide by the law, I may "feel" what I like. Agathon owned his own business from an early age.
Young Polus, on his way to a university to study, secretly, with sinister philosophers -- like M and Diotima -- thought otherwise.
Polus suggested -- after removing his earpiece from a portable music device and ceasing his constant "texting" -- that "nothing is a greater calling than love for persons. Hence, no public laws could violate the strictures of love. Or whatever ... "
Diotima then took center stage. "We must consider the possibility of a morality of love, in which law or ethical duty -- as defended by M -- and Erotic inclination, whether for the other or wisdom, as in this very dialectic that is defended by me, can be reconciled. We must resolve, Mr. K, the opposition between objective and subjective, universal and particular. This is to trace a movement in thought from, let us say, the Socratic elenchus, to the Critical theory of Kant, then to the youthful writings of Hegel and his progeny, like Marx."
Diotima and M placed their hands on their hips. BOTH women looked directly at Mr. K and asked: "What do you say to that?"
"I could not agree more!" Mr. K said.
Diotima explained: "True union, or love proper exists only between living beings who are alike in power (equals) and thus in one another's eyes living beings from every point of view; in no respect is either dead for the other. This genuine love excludes all oppositions. Love neither restricts nor is restricted; it is not finite at all. It is a feeling, yet not a single feeling. In love, life is present as a duplicate of itself, a mirror-image -- a partner in dialectic -- also as a single unified and shared self. From the contemplation of this mortal subject one is elevated to the contemplation of the goddess -- Eros -- herself."
Diotima insisted: Love 'deconstructs' the death principle by attaching us to life even when we are required to surrender life."
M explained: "Through loving, life is present as a 'duplicate of itself,' the beloved is another self, because love is a sort of analogon of reason -- as Diotima is an analogon of M! -- of THE reason. In contemplating these mysteries, Mr. K., you come to appreciate the ways in which you may be dead without knowing it, even as life calls you to love. Do you understand, Mr. K?"
"I think so. To be a living being is to be a lover. All love must be a love of beauty, therefore, the beauty revealed by love is an interpretation of life. To see anyone or any thing truly it is necessary to feel a kind of love for that person or thing. Maybe this is love's wisdom? This power of unveiling the self-as-other and other-as-self is the greatest gift revealed by the lover's art and wisdom. Love always elevates us to the contemplation of things in the scope of eternity -- we see the good, justice, identity in which we participate. Love is the opposite of death. Love is a 'certificate of life,' a reminder of all the ways in which we may be dead without knowing it. St. Augustine says that 'to love is to be.' I hope that you will be."
Six months after this conversation, Mr. J was asked to explain the facts of Mr. K's demise. Unfortunately, all efforts to obtain Mr. K's acceptance of the official determination concerning his own death were unsuccessful. Several officials from the Ministry failed to persuade Mr. K to drink hemlock.
Mr. K -- shockingly! -- had taken to painting. Mr. K discussed questions of beauty and goodness with strangers in subway platforms. Mr. K refused all medications, would not accept the assistance of the best accountants in the Republic. He was a sad case of "abnormality." Mr. K refused to adjust. Mr. K would not "cooperate" with power. A promotion was impossible. Mr. K, somehow, scraped together a meager subsistence from selling his paintings, shared living expenses with two women -- M and Diotima -- both of these women were officially "abnormal" as well.
This was a very sad case for the Ministry. Mr. K must be banished from the Republic. A "certificate of death" was issued for Mr. K by the Minister himself. Weeks ago, Mr. J was ordered to deliver that certificate of death, along with a legally prescribed potion of hemlock, to the unspeakable exile.
Mysteriously, Mr. J never returned to his office.
" ... the question is not what people see in each other, but what they come to see in themselves. After all the years of silence, suddenly you're face to face with someone who has to be told about your life, and, as you tell it, as your listener listens, as he smiles and nods and exclaims upon the similarities and differences in his own life, you begin to hear the story yourself, you begin to glimpse your own shape and nature."
Michael Frayn, A Landing on the Sun (London: Penguin, 1991), p. 152.
Supplemental Sources not in alphabetical order:
Mary McCarthy, "The Fact in Fiction," in A Bolt From the Blue and Other Essays (New York: Perseus, 2002), p. 203. (Edited with selections by A.O. Scott, before Ms. Scott's unfortunate association with "Manohla Dargis.")
Franz Kafka, The Basic Kafka (New York: Washington Square Books, 1979), the introduction by Eric Heller is outstanding. Kafka's nightmare was summarized in a sentence: "Guilt is never to be doubted." (See Franz Kafka's short story, "Before the Law.")
Plato, The Symposium (London & New York: Penguin, 1951), Introduction and translation by Walter Hamilton.
Plato, Symposium (Cambridge & Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Co., 1989), Alexander Nehamas & Paul Woodruff, translation with Introduction and notes.
Stephen E. Lewis, trans., Jean-Luc Marion, The Erotic Phenomenon (London & Chicago: University of Chicago, 2003).
Martha C. Nussbaum, Love's Knowledge: Essays on Philosophy and Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990).
April 22, 2010 at 11:35 A.M. Spacing was affected and other "errors" were inserted in this text several times during the first day that the work was posted. I cannot say how many other essays have been vandalized or censored. I will make corrections as quickly as possible. ("How Censorship Works in America.")
This story is a birthday card for "M." Happy Birthday, May 24. Also for the Gentle Portia, February 27.
"At five o'clock in the afternoon, in the capital of the Province of Y____, a tall man with an umbrella was knocking at the door of the governor's residence."
K answered the door. His life would never be same after that day. K had been employed in the Department of Identity Assignment for twenty-one years. There had never before been a serious error made by anyone in his office. The section of the Ministry devoted to Identity Creation, Assignment, and Reassignment was unforgiving of errors. The only penalty for such a lapse would be death. A visit by an assistant to the Minister was a most distressing sign. The governor entrusted important matters to K because of his discretion and efficiency as well as absolute obedience. These were the primary duties of citizens in the Republic. Every schoolchild memorized these words from earliest childhood: "Discretion, Efficiency, Obedience."
K wore a gray pinstripe suit, white shirt, dark blue necktie. K owned thirty-five identical suits with matching shirts and blue ties. Men in the Ministry were permitted to wear red neckties. Women were excluded from the Ministry, of course, even secretarial and reception services were performed by men in gray suits. At the highest levels of power there were a few women among the Guardians whose exceptional intellectual merits made it impossible to exclude from authority. These female Guardians were known as "defective women." The officials in the Ministry of Freudian Repairs said these women were really "inadequate males." Only executive level officials were permitted to wear red neckties. All Guardians dressed in business suits and wore red ties.
K dreamed of wearing a red necktie by his fiftieth birthday. K was only weeks away from that special occasion. Until now, a promotion seemed likely. A single catastrophe in his office could destroy his career. Loss of his career objectives and prospects concerned K more than the possibility of death. Death was merely identity reassignment. Career reassignment could mean expulsion to sewage services and maintenance provision for city dwellers. Immigrants performed such tasks while wearing electronic monitoring headbands under twenty-four hour camera surveillance from the Ministry of Peace and Happiness. Anything would be preferable to such a demotion.
The gentleman from the Ministry's Chief Office was polite, but somewhat cold. He wore a good suit, red silk tie (this meant he was next in line for the highest office in the land), and provided a sealed envelope to K. He was a man of 35, born to the red tie class, a graduate of University 1 in law and politics. He began by introducing himself to K:
"I am very pleased to meet you, Mr. K."
His handshake was very firm. They sat in the library of K's section.
"My name is B. I am afraid that we have encountered a bit of a difficulty in the front office. We need your help. This assignment and great responsibility entrusted to you will allow us to determine whether you are the sort of man we want in the highest echelons of power, making difficult decisions."
K was disturbed and expectant, also pleased that the error had apparently not been made by himself or his subordinates.
"It appears that the Minister has issued a death certificate for a Miss M. As you know, this is a routine matter that is ordinarily handled by subordinates. However, it is reported -- confidentially, of course, and most inconveniently -- that Miss M has not, in fact, died."
K was stunned to absorb this piece of information. The Minister had never before made a mistake of this magnitude that anyone had recorded or known of in all of the history of the Republic.
"Naturally, the fact that this unruly and radical young woman is still alive must not be allowed to obscure the fact that she is, legally, quite dead."
"Naturally." K found this logic irrefutable. The official understanding of law in the Republic was positivistic and formalist. All persons trained in law were to become legal scientists applying the rules of the society in an impersonal, objective, and neutral manner regardless of outcome.
Legal officials must be regarded as social engineers who keep the pipes and plumbing of society functioning properly.
"We must instruct her -- this M person -- to adjust to her new status and serve the Republic. She must be ... persuaded to accept an identity reassignment."
"Of course, sir."
"This perverse young woman refuses to cooperate with our confidential requests -- none of which have been expressed in writing, needless to say, and they are not part of the official file, although a private record has been kept of these events. We must resolve this unpleasant inconvenience and remove the shadow of imperfection that has fallen upon our land before the Minister forms a new government in six months' time."
"I see, sir."
"Yes, now you seem to be an 'up and comer'! I know that we may place this matter safely in your hands. You need not distress the Minister with grimy details, obviously, while ensuring that legal order is restored. All rules must be obeyed, thus ensuring that perfect justice prevails in the Republic -- as it always has and always will."
K repeated this slogan, automatically, from memory: "As it always has and always will."
"Good. Well, then there is nothing more to say. This conversation never took place. I was never here. If you quote my remarks, naturally, I will deny having made them. I am sure that you appreciate that such transparency in our legal proceedings is a statutory requirement for a man in my position. I have always lived by the highest professional and personal ethical standards."
"I admire your integrity, sir."
The men shook hands as they parted. K opened the envelope from the Ministry. He discovered a list of required steps by which provision of proof of the death of experson "M" would be provided to the Republic by K's office which was "deemed" to have issued the original certificate of death for this unsavory person.
A meeting would be called after the receipt of such proof to determine promotions for employees and administrators. K was among the persons whose future would be considered at that meeting. An address for experson "M" was provided. This matter was to be kept in the strictest confidence. The letter was unsigned.
For the rest of the day K was unable to concentrate on his work. He ate very little, went home early, then sat alone reading reports and enjoying the 24 hour sports channel. There was a 24 hour cartoon channel. There was no news on television. The news was no longer reported after the attainment of perfection in the Republic when history had officially ended.
The next morning K dressed in a brand new gray suit, crisp white shirt with button down collar, dark blue tie. His shoes were polished to mirror-like perfection, a neatly folded handkerchief was placed in his jacket pocket. K lived alone. He was meticulous about such details of self-presentation. He drove a new E-car which had been recharged overnight. He listened to generic muzak on his car stereo. After providing the address to his vehicular computer, K sat in the back seat and studied the file which he had accessed from his home network:
" ... The object of this report is a female, 50 years of age, sandy blond hair cut short, green eyes, and approximately 5' 6" in height. The only name by which she is known to the Ministry is 'M.' Reports of controversial opinions, deliberate lack of docility when associating with males, and refusal of inclination for domestic duties has called this person to the attention of the authorities on several occasions. Her criminal dossier includes 'irreverence for authority' and 'free thinking.' The worst offenses are of a pathological sexual nature, including amorous relations outside of wedlock for which the penalty may be death -- except where a partner in the sexual act is a member of the Ministry, of course. Furthermore, M has been found in possession of contraband items, including books published before the Great Perfection."
K understood quickly why this person's life had been cut short by "natural causes" at the request of the Ministry.
M is the sort of offender whose very existence called into question the progress in official "niceness" achieved so painfully by the Republic's leaders. All books existing before the Great Perfection had been removed from the shelves at Barnes & Noble book centers. There were no other booksellers in the Republic. K brought a legally prescribed dosage of hemlock for M.
The address provided in the Ministry's file was an abandoned warehouse in the East Village section outside of the "nice" part of the city where "good and normal" persons (like K) live "nicely" while never interacting with their equally nice neighbors.
Criminals congregated in these East Village streets: sex offenders, artists -- including actors! -- radical philosophers and other unruly persons who refused the blessings of normality and "niceness." One should never associate with actors as they are transmitters of something called the "Show Business Bug."
M lived at 101 Robert Downey Boulevard, Apartment 5A. Upon arrival, K's vehicle parked itself. He looked nervously around him at the sketchy neighborhood, rang the bell which was broken, then knocked loudly on the door hoping to be buzzed into the lobby. Someone opened a window, then shouted a greeting:
"What do you want?"
A woman was staring down at him from a fifth floor window.
"I am from 'Identity Assignment,' and I have a matter of great importance to discuss with you ... if you will kindly buzz me in."
K held up his badge and identification for the woman to see. The window was shut. K stood at the door waiting. Minutes passed and nothing happened. Some dirty men and a ragged child seemed to gather at the opposite side of the street. K smiled politely, held his briefcase up to his chest, and stood very still.
One did not wish to encourage any form of conversation with such people. Many had Norwegian ancestry. It is common knowledge that persons of Northern European lineage are dangerous and unreliable. Many are habitually dirty and may be drug users.
Suddenly, the old door opened. A woman stood before him displaying an insolent smile. She wore an old man's hat on the back of her head, a sleeveless t-shirt that said: "Rolling Stones -- Some Girls!" This apparition had a cigarette tucked behind her left ear, wore baggy denims, red sneakers, and ancient-looking spectacles that she removed, slowly, while staring up and down at K.
"What are you dressed up for?"
"I am not sure that I understand your meaning. Are you Ms. M?"
"Never mind. Come on in. Yes, I'm M."
They entered a lobby that had been painted by different local artists featuring massive political murals and some obscene abstract images. K made an effort to shut his eyes to this obscene material. Abstract expressionism was among the styles of painting outlawed after the Great Perfection, when "capitalist realism" became the official style of the Republic's licensed artists, all of whom were nevertheless to be excluded from life within the Republic's borders because, obviously, artists distract citizens from contemplation of the great and eternal perfections -- like beauty, good, law, justice, and higher solvency.
They entered a small apartment on the fifth floor after climbing the stairs. There were few pieces of furniture in a large central room, some original and fascinating artwork on the walls such as K had never seen before, the antique and fully restored furniture was complimented by fresh flowers.
There were several well-stocked bookshelves that had not been hidden before his arrival.
"Most of these books are prohibited because they cause cancer, you know."
K tried to sound reasonable and patient with this experson.
M responded: "I don't believe that books cause cancer."
K was shocked. "I am sure that the correlation is scientifically certain."
There was something very disturbing about her smile.
"Have a seat. Take a load off your feet." M sat on the floor.
"It is illegal not to own a television set. I do not see your t.v."
M smiled, wickedly: "I don't like t.v."
"I am not in law enforcement," K said, "You can be arrested for removing your television. Do you realize that? Anyway, I am here for a different reason. I do not wish to detain you any longer than necessary."
"Would you like a glass of water? You look kind of nervous."
"No, thank you. You see, the Guardians of the Republic -- through their servants in the Ministry of Identity, Goodness and Justice -- have determined that you are dead. You died after a long and painful illness which first produced a mental crisis causing delusions of a vile and detestable political nature. As a result of this determination by the Ministry, which has been officially certified in triplicate -- I have a copy of the decision here for you -- your continued living and political activism is highly upsetting because it may alter the perfection of our flawless society. I am sure that you will understand the necessity to comply with this decision applying the provisions of Rule 101, subsection 10 (b), 1. I have a copy here of the relevant Rules of the Republic."
"Are you telling me that I should kill myself because one of you morons made a mistake by listing me as dead when I am indisputably alive?"
"You don't really appreciate the complexity of the situation. You're looking at this in a very selfish way. You should try to think of it as your civic duty to kill yourself -- 'giving back' to our wonderful society -- by complying with all laws even if the laws are unfair or unjust. If the Laws themselves were to enter this room, and say to you that, 'because you have lived in the Republic and enjoyed the benefits of society, you have bound yourself to abide by the laws whatever you may think of them.' You would have to agree with that statement and accept their determination."
"What laws? The Republic promises justice, freedom, equality. Officially, no rule that violates those fundamental values has validity of any kind. I am not required to obey idiotic, false or absurd and self-contradictory laws because they are not really laws."
K had never encountered these arguments before, nor had he met a woman who refused to be deferential to his official pronouncements. This was heresy. Much of what M said was offensive to the principles of the Republic. K was rendered speechless by these pronouncements.
"You just have to comply with this determination because it is an official command with the right pedigree carrying a sanction that has been handed down to us by the legitimate body entrusted with law-making power in our society for execution."
This was the language in the official decision concerning legitimacy handed down by the Supreme Tribunal, unanimously. Justices Holmes, Hobbes, Bentham, Hart, and Posner "concurred in part and dissented in part." These justices always "concurred in part and dissented in part."
All decisions of the Supreme Tribunal were deemed unanimous because dissenters were not counted since they were immediately replaced with newly appointed justices -- after being executed, naturally.
"Did you memorize all of that? Or did you just come up with that by yourself?" That infuriating smile. M seemed to think carefully about this pronouncement by K. She rose from her seated position and walked around the room, slowly, then she opened the door to her apartment and shouted down to the others in the building. Crito lived downstairs. He worked off the books as a composer and musician. Diotima is a poet who lives on M's floor and does translations on the side. She loved these discussions. Several dancers who live in one apartment upstairs also enjoy these arguments and decided to join in: Agathon, Polus, Thrasymachus (who sells real estate), together with a graduate student in philosophy and mathematics, Plato.
"I hope you don't mind if some my friends join our chat. We like this better than t.v." That impertinent smile seemed to linger, disturbingly, on her lips.
"Are any of them ... contagious?" K held his briefcase to his chest.
"No," M said with a chuckle, "but the talk becomes very addictive and seductive. Does the word 'seductive' disturb you?"
K turned his head and coughed. "No."
"Now then," M said. "I am puzzled by this idea of law and rules. You seem to regard these terms as interchangeable. I am also concerned to examine the idea of justice as having something to do with all of this nonsense."
She motioned for K to sit, which he did: "You have been informed of an official determination that I have died. Is that correct?"
K said: "Yes."
"Very well. Would you agree that persons who are dead rarely engage in philosophical discussions?"
"Yes."
"Fine. Now I have verified -- by examining them from this distance -- the documents in your hands, in triplicate copies, suggesting that the birth date of 'M' is my birth date. Let us assume that this 'death certificate' refers -- or seeks to refer -- to me, M."
"All right."
"We can take it as a starting point for our discussion that the following propositions are true: 1) I am 'M'; 2) I am, in fact, very much alive, biologically, and (perhaps) legally; 3) a certificate ostensibly meeting all of the official requirements of legal validity establishes, according to the state, that I am dead; 4) there is an a priori obligation to obey all laws meeting the minimum conditions of legal validity for all citizens of the Republic, and I am a citizen of the Republic; 5) this raises the question of whether this certificate of death for 'M' satisfies those minimum conditions in order to require my obedience or acceptance of its provisions. Would you agree, Mr. K, that this states the issue before us?"
K was stunned: "Yes, roughly."
"Mr. K, have you been a party to the issuance of certificates of death for other persons in the past?"
"Yes."
"Is it true that there are criteria established and defined in the law to determine when a person has died?"
"Yes, very specific criteria. We try to be highly precise and accurate, neutral and objective at all times. Nothing is ever personal for us. Please believe that."
"I assure you that I fully believe in your 'impersonality.' Can you say what are the criteria for establishing, legally speaking, when a person has died?"
K coughed, again, and seemed baffled. He was familiar with the applicable laws, but he had never been required to engage in original thinking or to explain the laws.
"Well, medical experts have provided a set of objective and neutral criteria that say, exactly, when someone is dead. For example, coronary failure may produce a kind of death, although other bodily organs may continue to function and a patient may be kept artificially ... 'operational.' ... I guess that's the word."
"I see. If you recall, our focus was upon the death of 'persons.' We will deal with this troublesome term, 'person,' later. For now, please understand that my question refers not to the functioning of a body or its organs, but to the living person. Notice that I am insisting on a distinction between a human body and a person. When is a person dead, Mr. K?"
"According to the latest promulgated rules -- I have copies in triplicate here of the latest updates and pocket parts for the law books -- 'brain death' is the criteria for the death of a person."
"What is brain death?" M seemed to smile directly at Mr. K in a most disturbing and annoying way. "Does it usually coincide with mental death?"
"Brain death means that a person's mind is shut off, like a t.v. set that no longer works, or a light that goes dark."
"Do you mean, Mr. K, that a person stops reading and thinking, holding and expressing opinions, experiencing things?"
"Yes, among other things."
"Is it possible for cerebral functions to remain operative in a person with limited or no mental capacity or ability?"
"Yes. I guess so."
"The criteria in the laws seems to concern the cessation of ALL brain function?"
"Yes."
"Accordingly, if the brain of a person 'functions,' at all, then that person must be alive -- is that right?"
"Yes."
"We can tell that a brain functions from mental activities as well as physical criteria, such as movement or breathing, correct?"
"Yes."
M took in a deep breath. Strolled around the room, slowly, never taking her eyes from Mr. K.
"Would you agree, Mr. K, that I am speaking with you?"
"Yes."
"Do you observe that I am walking around my room?"
There was laughter from the other persons in the room.
"Yes."
"Do you deny that cerebral operations must be taking place in my body in order for me to be performing these elaborate physical operations that you seem to observe?"
"Yes, I suppose so. I mean, no, I don't deny that you're doing the things I see you doing. At least, I must believe that you are doing these things."
"If the criteria of death in accordance with the laws is cessation of all cerebral operations, and if it is clear that, as to my own cerebral operations (poor things, surely), that at least some 'functions' still seem to be taking place, then would you say that it appears reasonably certain that I do not meet the legal criteria of death under the laws?"
"This is very troubling. However, I must admit that you are logically correct. You are not legally dead."
"If I do not meet these legal criteria concerning the death of persons, then it must be the case that the certificate of my death was issued in error. Being false or an error, this certificate cannot be binding on me, nor upon the institutions of society, would you agree?"
"Yes."
"Furthermore, a certificate based on fraud or error, or a self-contradictory law, is void ab initio, is that right?"
"Yes, that's right."
"And even if you wonder whether your sense faculties are altered -- or whether you are under the illusion that I am walking around this room even if I am actually dead -- this wondering would not alter the logical operation involved since your impression of the death certificate and of your task must also be based on the information in your mind, derived from your senses, as regards the material world, and you are relying upon that information (and your mind) to discuss the matter with me. Hence, you must rely on the reports of your mind, to the same extent, when that initial 'knowledge' of my death is challenged by me. You are using and relying upon your fallible senses to determine whether I am dead or alive, whether you are holding a death certificate in your hands and what it says. Do you understand?"
"Yes. I am afraid so."
"Notice that these observations are independent of the reality or truth of propositions -- propositions, as distinct from sentences, that exist entirely apart from individual sense knowledge -- in logic. It will always be 'true' that 2 + 2 = 4, even for the person who has not yet made this discovery. This proposition simply communicates a truth that is unperceived by, or unknown to, that non-mathematical person."
Mr. K was about to say more when one of the guests in the room seemed to lift himself from his chair with emotion and disdain for the proceedings.
"Before we turn to the certificate of death that has been issued by the Minister -- I know him, by the way -- and why it is legally invalid or a nullity, I see that Thrasymachus is anxious to interrupt. Do you wish to say something Thrasymachus?"
Thrasymachus was a large, cigar munching, Guayavera-wearing person of indeterminate gender from New Jersey or Miami Beach, who spoke very loudly and was obnoxious to the participants in these discussions:
"That's all bullshit!' It's all about power. You're dead if they say you're dead."
Thrasymachus walked to the center of the room and uttered his remarks in a booming baritone voice: "Besides, you are asking K to rely on his senses. Everybody knows that observations and sense data -- that's all uncertain stuff. He could be delusional, like the Communists! Everything's relative!"
"Well, thank you for that disturbing pronouncement." M smiled at Thrasymachus. She gestured for Thrasymachus to sit and try a piece of cheese cake. Thrasymachus enjoyed altering the spacing or otherwise defacing the writings of his "intellectual superiors" -- by removing a single letter from a word, perhaps, or turning off the computer of an envied rival.
"We seem to have discovered something that is not relative. Your principle that everything is relative, Thrasymachus, is held by you as a general objective and universal maxim, right?"
Thrasymachus nodded while munching on a piece of cheese cake.
"Well, in that case, it would be a non-relative truth for the proponent of a relativist claim that 'everything is relative.' And this would be a self-contradictory claim, an absurdity -- like a living person's argument that he or she is alive despite an official pronouncement of that person's demise. Isn't that true?"
Silence. Thrasymachus gets up to leave in anger. M reaches out to him and smiles:
"Join us. Stay with us. Let us examine these objections. We are engaged in a very important activity, Thrasymachus. We need your contribution to the discussion. Incidentally, Thrasymachus, if you say that this claim by you is also 'relative,' then it is not binding on others and we may ignore it. In either case, there appears to be a slight difficulty for you as an 'absolute relativist,' would you agree?"
Thrasymachus only made a lewd gesture and threatened to "assassinate" everyone, after inserting new "errors" in everyone's writings. Thrasymachus said: "I am going to kill you!"
M was undisturbed: "Sense data is a troubling concept. Are concepts mere sense data?"
"I don't know." K was baffled.
"Mr. K may certainly be mistaken in his sense perceptions when he observes me. Although, I am sure that K is in no doubts concerning at least some of the information that his senses are supplying to him about me at this very instant. Let us ponder this dilemma."
"Our senses seem to provide information concerning 'appearances,' would you agree?"
K nodded.
"We use our eyes to see, fingers to touch objects, or other beings in the world -- isn't that so?"
"Yes."
"After all, these faculties for perceiving the world or gathering the data of our senses are fallible, aren't they?"
"What do you mean?"
"Our eyes may be defective. We may see a blurry universe, one without colors, or we may be blind."
"I agree."
"Besides, the world that we perceive with the senses comes to us dripping with the categories of our faculties for sense perception. The world that we know with the senses reeks of ourselves, don't you agree?"
"How do you mean?"
"Well, taste, vision, touch and so on are qualities of ourselves and not of the world. The world disclosed by the senses is in 'flux,' changing all the time, uncertain, blurry, mixed with our emotions and distorting perspectives. Hence, it cannot yield certainty or eternal and objective knowledge, isn't that true?"
"I suppose so."
"On the other hand, mathematics does seem to provide necessary truth that is not dependent on our flawed senses for it is approached via the rational faculty only."
"What do you mean by 'independent of our senses'?"
"For example, the proposition 2 + 2 = 4 is true, necessarily, given the definition of the concepts being used -- concepts of number -- and must always be true, everywhere, regardless of anyone's perspective, isn't that so?"
"But don't numbers come from us? Aren't they based on sense data?"
"What the numbers describe or relations of logical necessity are 'real' -- indeed, necessarily real -- even if we use different symbols to describe these relations that some of us 'discover' in reason and do not merely 'invent.' They seem to have a fundamental connection with the human linguistic capacity that allows for intellection. There is something objectively 'correct' about these mathematical propositions that does not depend on sense data or even upon their discovery by all of us. Do you agree?"
"I am not sure."
"Part of what we mean by a person has to do with possessing this a priori capacity to establish such 'trascendental and/or logical connections.' Among the persons outlawed in the Republic are philosophers -- like Noam Chomsky and scientist Roger Penrose, thinkers like Christopher Peacocke and others exploring these issues for the Resistance. Did you know that?"
"No."
"It was, is, and will always be true that 2 + 2 = 4. This was true before we possessed these symbols, or were even aware of these relations, given the meaning of the concepts deployed in this proposition. Hence, there is a demonstrable truth revealed by such numerical relations that is not dependent on our flawed human intellects and perceptual capacities. This is a truth in which we may participate. This is a kind of truth that is instantiated in us through our participation in mathematical reasoning -- would you agree, Mr. K?"
"I suppose I must agree to that. It doesn't seem right."
"Why does it not seem right?"
"I guess because you can't just 'go and look' to determine mathematical truths. Like, if I wanted to grasp this truth in my hand, I could not do so. I want to 'touch' truth. I want to find it in my backyard, or see it under a microscope. I wonder whether sense data comes first and then the concepts are formulated from that sense data? I mean, can't we just go and look for truth?"
"Why would we need and reach for concepts in order to understand the world or ourselves?"
"I do not know."
"Why are we predisposed to need, seek, and deploy these abstract concepts in order to experience certainty or any unified knowledge? Are there many ways of 'looking' for truth? The connective tissues of the mental world that make meaningful experience possible are not 'in' the empirical world and they cannot be exclusively 'in' us or they would fail to establish necessary connections that allow us to explain and predict trajectories or natural phenomena, that is, not only how things are but how they must be in the future. These connective meanings are like an ocean in which we dip our buckets of truth."
"I see what you mean."
"Why is such conceptual knowledge and communication essential to what we are? A moose feels no need to develop the concept of number or space, time, or category, but a moose may have the same sense data that we do, feels the cold and heat, hunger or thirst. I wonder why that is true?"
"I do not know."
"It must be something about our 'natures' or essences, as persons, that makes us crave understanding because we are capable of achieving it. We need to understand and know the world as well as ourselves. Suppose that I take two coins from my pocket and place them on the floor before you. I take another two coins and also place them on the floor. If I then ask you to count the total number of coins on the floor. What is the total number of coins on the floor before you?"
"Four."
"Does the mental operation or logical process of deduction that you have performed seem compelling?"
"Yes."
"Are you in any doubt concerning this conclusion?"
"No. But doesn't this calculation also involve my imperfect mind?"
"The calculation -- as performed by you -- involves your mental faculties and intellect. However, the relation disclosed by your intellect, based on the concepts applied, comes before your use of intelligence in the effort. What is more, you are involved in an act of 'recollection' as you engage in this effort, since what is disclosed seems (and must be) inescapably true, again, as a matter of the meaning of the concepts involved in this effort. It is as if you have always known this logical calculation to be true -- and must have known it to be true -- once it is clearly demonstrated to be the case that 2 + 2 = 4. Isn't that so, Mr. K?"
"I do not see any way around what you say."
"It appears that the truth of this proposition is not relative. It must be the case that 2 + 2 = 4. Do you deny this?"
"No."
"Furthermore, this truth is a priori. This is not a truth revealed by our senses a posteriori. We do not derive this truth inductively, from perusing the empirical world, but rather we apply our intellects to 'calculations of necessity' -- calculations yielding certainty by definition based on concepts inherent in us that we apply to the world, deductively, just as we communicate based on a linguistic capacity that is natural for persons and that is developed in languages. Again, this may be the same natural capacity for connectedness with others and the world. Does this seem rational to you?"
"Yes."
"For the present you may disregard the recently challenged doubts concerning the a priori/a posteriori distinction laid down by W.V. Quine. My friend Jacques Derrida 'rejects the idea (the empiricist confusion, as he would call it) that we could ever claim rational warrant for suspending the ground rules of bivalent logic in response to some anomaly turned up in the course of scientific investigation, or some conflict between a well-entrenched theory and a discrepant empirical finding. Still less would he accept the Quinian dictum that changes in our logic should best be viewed as a matter of pragmatic convenience, or of working an intelligible structure into the chaos of sensory stimuli while seeking to avoid such conflicts by making adjustments where needed and thereby conserving maximum coherence across the entire fabric of beliefs-held-true.' Do you see Derrida's point?"
Christopher Norris, Fiction, Philosophy and Literary Theory: Will the Real Saul Kripke Please Stand Up? (New York & London: Continuum, 2007), p. 16.
"I guess so." K said.
"What is even more mysterious is that these mathematical truths turn out to describe the workings of the 'real' universe, again, or the language of nature, so that on the basis of this mathematical truth we can describe the trajectory of a star or make calculations in physics that will measure the workings of natural forces in the past or future. Hence, they seem to say something 'real' and 'true' about the elegant order in the universe of everyday life as well as within ourselves. We are mysteriously 'fitted' to understand the order underlying all things. Nature shares in these concepts with us. Moreover, we are a part of the order disclosed in nature. This 'disclosing' is, indeed, part of what is ordered by (or in) nature. Are you astonished, Mr. K?"
Ian Stewart, Nature's Numbers: The Unreal Reality of Mathematics (New York: Basic Books, 1995), pp. 107-127.
"I never thought of knowledge that way."
"I am sure of that. What is even more amazing is that this mathematical knowledge -- like yourself, Mr. K! -- is very 'impersonal' for all rational agents. This knowledge applies everywhere, reflecting a beauty in the universal order that seems overwhelming. Yet we discover this beauty and elegance also in ourselves, as each of us is a part of the universe. Would you agree?"
"But isn't this elegance and beauty in us, not in the universe?"
"Well, if we are in the universe, and if the natural order, intelligence and beauty that I describe is in us, then it must also be 'in' the universe. You see, the spacial metaphors break down, at this point, because we are describing the networks of meanings that make ourselves and all reasoning possible. Do you understand?"
"I think so."
"Just as the breakdown of our physics and equations projected on to thought experiments concerning the big bang and the instants immediately after that event is also a truth-claim based on mathematical knowledge, even the denials of particular truth-claims contain this truth-capacity -- i.e., bivalent logic and must do so, as we have learned from Kant -- making the concept of truth much more pervasive as well as problematic than we once thought. Do you follow this reasoning?"
"Yes."
Plato rises from his seat and walks to the window. M catches his eye. There is a secret smile on both their lips, a special intimacy that they share. M lifts an eyebrow, offering an invitation. Plato shakes his head, smiles, saying (silently) "no." M understands and turns, again, to Mr. K:
"And you approve of 'impersonality' in legal affairs and the operations of state power, don't you?"
"Yes. Law is a science."
"Then you must approve of impersonality, objectivity, and universality in our knowledge claims, don't you?"
"I guess so."
"We have determined, however, that I do not seem to meet the objective and impersonal criteria of death under the relevant laws, which is brain death. But then, the death certificate issued concerning me must be inaccurate, factually, so as to fall short of legal validity. Do you agree, Mr. K?"
"I guess I must accept that."
"If the death certificate is invalid -- void ab initio -- if it is false, then you cannot enforce it. I have no obligation to abide by this certificate of death. Legally, it is nothing. Is that correct?"
"I guess so."
Do you, Mr. K, have an obligation to obey the laws?"
"Yes, of course."
"Do you think of yourself as a 'person,' despite your admiration for impersonality?"
"Yes, I do."
"But we have learned something concerning persons during the course of our discussion that may now allow us to attempt a definition of this troublesome concept, 'person.' What is a person?"
"What do you mean that we have learned something concerning persons?"
M walked over to Mr. K, sat on the arm of his chair, and whispered: "Persons need to make connections with one another and to find overarching meanings. Relationships between, say, 2 + 2 that equals 4 must be discovered (or constructed) if they are to be known by us. Relationships between men and women, all persons, must also be constructed and discovered, necessarily, as a matter of the sociability that we take for granted in our 'societies.' Perhaps there are constitutive relations that are even more essential to human nature? We need others to 'become the persons we are,' Mr. K. Persons are other-regarding and -defined beings."
At this point, Diotima, a husky and dark-hued brunette stepped forward: "There is something about persons that requires them to 'connect.' This is above and beyond the level of rights and duties to which M refers. This means ethical life and love -- Eros -- must be fundamental to persons. Would you agree, Mr. K?"
Diotima sat on the other side of Mr. K causing him to look at one woman, then the other. Mr. K began to perspire: "I suppose that's true. I ... I like people."
"I am sure that you do." Diotima said. "But do you 'like' loving, Mr. K?"
"I am not sure that this is a proper question for a civil servant to answer while on duty."
M drew very close to poor Mr. K and whispered: "Are there obligations beyond political or ethical duties, Mr.K? Intimate obligations?"
Agathon thought not. He objected that the state has no claim on my inner life and cannot tell me to be (or do) "good," only "right action" is enjoined by the government. As long as I abide by the law, I may "feel" what I like. Agathon owned his own business from an early age.
Young Polus, on his way to a university to study, secretly, with sinister philosophers -- like M and Diotima -- thought otherwise.
Polus suggested -- after removing his earpiece from a portable music device and ceasing his constant "texting" -- that "nothing is a greater calling than love for persons. Hence, no public laws could violate the strictures of love. Or whatever ... "
Diotima then took center stage. "We must consider the possibility of a morality of love, in which law or ethical duty -- as defended by M -- and Erotic inclination, whether for the other or wisdom, as in this very dialectic that is defended by me, can be reconciled. We must resolve, Mr. K, the opposition between objective and subjective, universal and particular. This is to trace a movement in thought from, let us say, the Socratic elenchus, to the Critical theory of Kant, then to the youthful writings of Hegel and his progeny, like Marx."
Diotima and M placed their hands on their hips. BOTH women looked directly at Mr. K and asked: "What do you say to that?"
"I could not agree more!" Mr. K said.
Diotima explained: "True union, or love proper exists only between living beings who are alike in power (equals) and thus in one another's eyes living beings from every point of view; in no respect is either dead for the other. This genuine love excludes all oppositions. Love neither restricts nor is restricted; it is not finite at all. It is a feeling, yet not a single feeling. In love, life is present as a duplicate of itself, a mirror-image -- a partner in dialectic -- also as a single unified and shared self. From the contemplation of this mortal subject one is elevated to the contemplation of the goddess -- Eros -- herself."
Diotima insisted: Love 'deconstructs' the death principle by attaching us to life even when we are required to surrender life."
M explained: "Through loving, life is present as a 'duplicate of itself,' the beloved is another self, because love is a sort of analogon of reason -- as Diotima is an analogon of M! -- of THE reason. In contemplating these mysteries, Mr. K., you come to appreciate the ways in which you may be dead without knowing it, even as life calls you to love. Do you understand, Mr. K?"
"I think so. To be a living being is to be a lover. All love must be a love of beauty, therefore, the beauty revealed by love is an interpretation of life. To see anyone or any thing truly it is necessary to feel a kind of love for that person or thing. Maybe this is love's wisdom? This power of unveiling the self-as-other and other-as-self is the greatest gift revealed by the lover's art and wisdom. Love always elevates us to the contemplation of things in the scope of eternity -- we see the good, justice, identity in which we participate. Love is the opposite of death. Love is a 'certificate of life,' a reminder of all the ways in which we may be dead without knowing it. St. Augustine says that 'to love is to be.' I hope that you will be."
Six months after this conversation, Mr. J was asked to explain the facts of Mr. K's demise. Unfortunately, all efforts to obtain Mr. K's acceptance of the official determination concerning his own death were unsuccessful. Several officials from the Ministry failed to persuade Mr. K to drink hemlock.
Mr. K -- shockingly! -- had taken to painting. Mr. K discussed questions of beauty and goodness with strangers in subway platforms. Mr. K refused all medications, would not accept the assistance of the best accountants in the Republic. He was a sad case of "abnormality." Mr. K refused to adjust. Mr. K would not "cooperate" with power. A promotion was impossible. Mr. K, somehow, scraped together a meager subsistence from selling his paintings, shared living expenses with two women -- M and Diotima -- both of these women were officially "abnormal" as well.
This was a very sad case for the Ministry. Mr. K must be banished from the Republic. A "certificate of death" was issued for Mr. K by the Minister himself. Weeks ago, Mr. J was ordered to deliver that certificate of death, along with a legally prescribed potion of hemlock, to the unspeakable exile.
Mysteriously, Mr. J never returned to his office.
" ... the question is not what people see in each other, but what they come to see in themselves. After all the years of silence, suddenly you're face to face with someone who has to be told about your life, and, as you tell it, as your listener listens, as he smiles and nods and exclaims upon the similarities and differences in his own life, you begin to hear the story yourself, you begin to glimpse your own shape and nature."
Michael Frayn, A Landing on the Sun (London: Penguin, 1991), p. 152.
Supplemental Sources not in alphabetical order:
Mary McCarthy, "The Fact in Fiction," in A Bolt From the Blue and Other Essays (New York: Perseus, 2002), p. 203. (Edited with selections by A.O. Scott, before Ms. Scott's unfortunate association with "Manohla Dargis.")
Franz Kafka, The Basic Kafka (New York: Washington Square Books, 1979), the introduction by Eric Heller is outstanding. Kafka's nightmare was summarized in a sentence: "Guilt is never to be doubted." (See Franz Kafka's short story, "Before the Law.")
Plato, The Symposium (London & New York: Penguin, 1951), Introduction and translation by Walter Hamilton.
Plato, Symposium (Cambridge & Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Co., 1989), Alexander Nehamas & Paul Woodruff, translation with Introduction and notes.
Stephen E. Lewis, trans., Jean-Luc Marion, The Erotic Phenomenon (London & Chicago: University of Chicago, 2003).
Martha C. Nussbaum, Love's Knowledge: Essays on Philosophy and Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990).
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Hypocrisy in America.
May 3, 2010 at 2:07 P.M. More "errors" inserted in "A Philosophical Investigation of Ludwig Wittgenstein." ("Stephen J. Schaeffer and Conduct Unbecoming to the Judiciary in New Jersey" and "More Child-Porn and -Prostitution in New Jersey" as well as "Neil M. Cohen, Esq. and Conduct Unbecoming to the Legislature in New Jersey" then "Sybil R. Moses and Conduct Unbecoming to the Judiciary in New Jersey.")
April 3, 2010 at 6:00 P.M. This essay was posted earlier today. Numerous "errors" were inserted in the text. I have now corrected those "errors." Keep 'em coming.
April 3, 2010 at 2:37 P.M. Access to the Internet was denied to me yesterday. Several of my essays were altered or defaced in violation of copyright laws and the U.S. Constitution. Can Cubans believe America's pronouncements concerning free speech or the rights of dissidents? I am afraid not.
May 9, 2008 at 11:06 A.M. I am blocking "spyware":
http://ad.doubleclick.net/adj/N3753.msn/B271049...
http://ad.doubleclick.net/activity;src=1652863;met=...
http://ad.doubleclick.net/activity;src=1652863;met=...
http://ad.doubleclick.net/activity;src=1652863;met=...
http://ad.doublelcick.net/activity;src=1652863;met=...
May 8, 2008 at 9:11 A.M. new obstacles prevent me from accessing Critique. Has MSN groups closed? I will do my best to return to my MSN group. I'll try to write today. My image at that group may be blocked. No images can be posted at this blog or with my profile. I will run scans throughout the day. I am blocking:
http://docs.google.com/EmbedSlideshow?docid=d...
http://docs.google.com/js/949013627-plus_embed-view.csshttp://dics.google.com/js/30827582-PresentlyIndirect.js ("JS" = Superior Court Judge, New Jersey?)
http://docs.google.com/js/116215014-EmbedSlideshow.js
http://rover.ebay.com/ar/1/711-58813-2060-2014 (I do not have an e-bay account!)
http://icedz.ebay.com/ad/212041...
May 6, 2008 at 10:26 A.M. I received a call from 212-645-5985; same caller at 10:34 A.M.; then again at 10:43 A.M.; and at 10:47 A.M.; "anonymous" calls at 10:58 A.M. At 11:02 A.M. I received another call from 212-645-5985 and at 11:06 A.M. from the same caller. Harassment?
May 6, 2008 at 8:51 A.M. several articles critical of Senator Robert "Bob" Menendez were defaced. I am unable at this time to correct them, yet again, in order to re-post them. I am obstructed from accessing my MSN group. I will continue to run scans, devoting the rest of the day to regaining access to my group. Furthermore, I will devote more essays to Senator Bob and New Jersey corruption in response to these tactics. I will do my best to make corrections of writings altered or destroyed by hackers last night. ("Senator Bob, the Babe, and the Big Bucks" and "New Jersey's Feces-Covered Supreme Court.")
May 5, 2008 at 9:16 A.M. It is difficult to post essays at Critique, where a number of essays have already been vandalized today. I will continue to struggle to make necessary corrections. I am blocking:
http://ad.doubleclick.net/adj/N3753.MSN/B271049... ("ADJ" = Apellate Division Judge, NJ?)
http://ad.doubleclick.net/activity;src=165283;met=...
http://ad.doubleclick.net/activity;src=165283;met=...
http://ad.doubleclick.net/activity;src=165283;met=...
http://ad.doubleclick.net/activity;src=165283;met=...
http://ad.doubleclick.net/activity;src=165283;met=...
Calls received from 757-990-8980 at 9:16 A.M., then again at 9:57 A.M., in addition to the usual anonymous "marketers." Obscene calls are also received regularly from these numbers. These may be "dummy numbers" used by hidden phantom callers.
"In New Jersey's super-corrupt atmosphere, nothing is sacred or beyond conversion to a patronage pit. Seemingly everything Jersey politicians do is designed to help themselves or their friends. Little is done because it is the right thing to do. Sometimes it can be the right thing, but in that case, it's a coincidence."
Bob Ingle & Sandy McClure, The Soprano State: New Jersey's Culture of Corruption (New York: St. Martin's, 2008), p. 9.
I have just spent hours coping with the usual harassment, obstructions of access to my sites, defacements and vandalism of essays, destruction of written work, attempts at frustration or inducement of violent reactions. Really, what I experience -- almost on a daily basis -- is a sadistic delight in inflicting emotional and psychological pain on a human being whose mind (weirdly) is both envied and hated. This sick cruelty can only provide a twisted form of sexual pleasure for the would-be tormentor.
I never before fully appreciated to what extent one might be hated for intelligence. Creative ability and imagination are things that inspire hatred, loathing, mostly fear among simple and confused people. These qualities are now grounds for the destruction of human beings in America -- at least, they are in New Jersey. At this point in my life, I have no other explanation for these attacks on my writings. Perhaps there has never been another explanation. ("Terry Tuchin, Diana Lisa Riccioli, and New Jersey's Agency of Torture.")
There is something about intelligence that frightens brutal and ignorant men and women -- who are also beguiled by ideas that they recognize are beautiful and important, but which will always be beyond their grasp. This is felt to be "unfair," somehow. If they (Diana, Terry, and people like them) cannot understand something important, they believe that no one should understand such things or discuss them. These people are called "therapists" -- at least in New Jersey, where they are protected by corrupt police and prosecutors from the consequences of any crimes they commit against dark-skinned or poor people. A great deal of anti-semitism and racism is motivated by hatred of intelligence and beauty. ("Is Humanism Still Possible?" and "New Jersey's KKK Police Shocker.")
Like so much of artistic culture and the true richness of life, these beauties are indestructible. These priceless "things of the mind" cannot be stolen or taken by force. The stupid and cruel person faced with someone who relishes the life of the mind and who offers its fruits -- even to his tormentors -- free of charge, cannot avoid being infuriated not by what he or she will never "know" (which is a lot!), but by what he or she will never "be." It is frustration at your own inadequacies and intellectual limitations that causes you to insert "errors" in my writings. I have learned this lesson from James Baldwin as well as many others. Mr. McGill? ("Miami's Cubanoids Protest AGAINST Peace!")
Was Nydia Hernandez a part of recent dismal events in Trenton? I wonder whether Nydia has visited my sites? Three child-porn rings broken up in New Jersey. (Soon: "Sybil R. Moses Joins the Lesbian Love Fest!")
It is not what I say; rather, it is what I am that is unforgivable. What I am is a thinker. I am someone who chooses to reason and feel (even when it is painful to do so), and whose faults are as great as any other person's faults -- yet who insists on remaining just that: a PERSON. It is only by remaining a person that one can acknowledge faults, while also demanding recognition of injustices and crimes suffered at the hands of others, others whose hypocrisy alone makes them much worse than I am or ever will be. Ethics, Mr. McGill? ("New Jersey's 'Ethical' Legal System.")
Spacing has been affected in this essay, unfortunately. "Errors" were inserted twice after I posted the work earlier this afternoon. Legal ethics, Mr. Rabner? ("What is it like to be plagiarized?" and "What is it like to be tortured?" then "No More Cover-Ups and Lies, Chief Justice Rabner!")
It is those others who have chosen to abandon their status as persons who are in need of sympathy, not me. These monsters are, in the end, to be pitied. For they can only live comfortably among persons who are as morally repulsive and dimwitted as themselves (Ms. Poritz?), which must be a fate worse than death. And they are, therefore, cursed not to know or be anything but what little they are within themselves, what they have become and will remain in their ideological prisons -- their own envy and greed, anger, and self-chosen stupidity is what they have become and will be forever. Sadly, I must expect more vandalism and censorship of this text. I will continue to write. ("What is it like to be censored in America?")
April 3, 2010 at 6:00 P.M. This essay was posted earlier today. Numerous "errors" were inserted in the text. I have now corrected those "errors." Keep 'em coming.
April 3, 2010 at 2:37 P.M. Access to the Internet was denied to me yesterday. Several of my essays were altered or defaced in violation of copyright laws and the U.S. Constitution. Can Cubans believe America's pronouncements concerning free speech or the rights of dissidents? I am afraid not.
May 9, 2008 at 11:06 A.M. I am blocking "spyware":
http://ad.doubleclick.net/adj/N3753.msn/B271049...
http://ad.doubleclick.net/activity;src=1652863;met=...
http://ad.doubleclick.net/activity;src=1652863;met=...
http://ad.doubleclick.net/activity;src=1652863;met=...
http://ad.doublelcick.net/activity;src=1652863;met=...
May 8, 2008 at 9:11 A.M. new obstacles prevent me from accessing Critique. Has MSN groups closed? I will do my best to return to my MSN group. I'll try to write today. My image at that group may be blocked. No images can be posted at this blog or with my profile. I will run scans throughout the day. I am blocking:
http://docs.google.com/EmbedSlideshow?docid=d...
http://docs.google.com/js/949013627-plus_embed-view.csshttp://dics.google.com/js/30827582-PresentlyIndirect.js ("JS" = Superior Court Judge, New Jersey?)
http://docs.google.com/js/116215014-EmbedSlideshow.js
http://rover.ebay.com/ar/1/711-58813-2060-2014 (I do not have an e-bay account!)
http://icedz.ebay.com/ad/212041...
May 6, 2008 at 10:26 A.M. I received a call from 212-645-5985; same caller at 10:34 A.M.; then again at 10:43 A.M.; and at 10:47 A.M.; "anonymous" calls at 10:58 A.M. At 11:02 A.M. I received another call from 212-645-5985 and at 11:06 A.M. from the same caller. Harassment?
May 6, 2008 at 8:51 A.M. several articles critical of Senator Robert "Bob" Menendez were defaced. I am unable at this time to correct them, yet again, in order to re-post them. I am obstructed from accessing my MSN group. I will continue to run scans, devoting the rest of the day to regaining access to my group. Furthermore, I will devote more essays to Senator Bob and New Jersey corruption in response to these tactics. I will do my best to make corrections of writings altered or destroyed by hackers last night. ("Senator Bob, the Babe, and the Big Bucks" and "New Jersey's Feces-Covered Supreme Court.")
May 5, 2008 at 9:16 A.M. It is difficult to post essays at Critique, where a number of essays have already been vandalized today. I will continue to struggle to make necessary corrections. I am blocking:
http://ad.doubleclick.net/adj/N3753.MSN/B271049... ("ADJ" = Apellate Division Judge, NJ?)
http://ad.doubleclick.net/activity;src=165283;met=...
http://ad.doubleclick.net/activity;src=165283;met=...
http://ad.doubleclick.net/activity;src=165283;met=...
http://ad.doubleclick.net/activity;src=165283;met=...
http://ad.doubleclick.net/activity;src=165283;met=...
Calls received from 757-990-8980 at 9:16 A.M., then again at 9:57 A.M., in addition to the usual anonymous "marketers." Obscene calls are also received regularly from these numbers. These may be "dummy numbers" used by hidden phantom callers.
"In New Jersey's super-corrupt atmosphere, nothing is sacred or beyond conversion to a patronage pit. Seemingly everything Jersey politicians do is designed to help themselves or their friends. Little is done because it is the right thing to do. Sometimes it can be the right thing, but in that case, it's a coincidence."
Bob Ingle & Sandy McClure, The Soprano State: New Jersey's Culture of Corruption (New York: St. Martin's, 2008), p. 9.
I have just spent hours coping with the usual harassment, obstructions of access to my sites, defacements and vandalism of essays, destruction of written work, attempts at frustration or inducement of violent reactions. Really, what I experience -- almost on a daily basis -- is a sadistic delight in inflicting emotional and psychological pain on a human being whose mind (weirdly) is both envied and hated. This sick cruelty can only provide a twisted form of sexual pleasure for the would-be tormentor.
I never before fully appreciated to what extent one might be hated for intelligence. Creative ability and imagination are things that inspire hatred, loathing, mostly fear among simple and confused people. These qualities are now grounds for the destruction of human beings in America -- at least, they are in New Jersey. At this point in my life, I have no other explanation for these attacks on my writings. Perhaps there has never been another explanation. ("Terry Tuchin, Diana Lisa Riccioli, and New Jersey's Agency of Torture.")
There is something about intelligence that frightens brutal and ignorant men and women -- who are also beguiled by ideas that they recognize are beautiful and important, but which will always be beyond their grasp. This is felt to be "unfair," somehow. If they (Diana, Terry, and people like them) cannot understand something important, they believe that no one should understand such things or discuss them. These people are called "therapists" -- at least in New Jersey, where they are protected by corrupt police and prosecutors from the consequences of any crimes they commit against dark-skinned or poor people. A great deal of anti-semitism and racism is motivated by hatred of intelligence and beauty. ("Is Humanism Still Possible?" and "New Jersey's KKK Police Shocker.")
Like so much of artistic culture and the true richness of life, these beauties are indestructible. These priceless "things of the mind" cannot be stolen or taken by force. The stupid and cruel person faced with someone who relishes the life of the mind and who offers its fruits -- even to his tormentors -- free of charge, cannot avoid being infuriated not by what he or she will never "know" (which is a lot!), but by what he or she will never "be." It is frustration at your own inadequacies and intellectual limitations that causes you to insert "errors" in my writings. I have learned this lesson from James Baldwin as well as many others. Mr. McGill? ("Miami's Cubanoids Protest AGAINST Peace!")
Was Nydia Hernandez a part of recent dismal events in Trenton? I wonder whether Nydia has visited my sites? Three child-porn rings broken up in New Jersey. (Soon: "Sybil R. Moses Joins the Lesbian Love Fest!")
It is not what I say; rather, it is what I am that is unforgivable. What I am is a thinker. I am someone who chooses to reason and feel (even when it is painful to do so), and whose faults are as great as any other person's faults -- yet who insists on remaining just that: a PERSON. It is only by remaining a person that one can acknowledge faults, while also demanding recognition of injustices and crimes suffered at the hands of others, others whose hypocrisy alone makes them much worse than I am or ever will be. Ethics, Mr. McGill? ("New Jersey's 'Ethical' Legal System.")
Spacing has been affected in this essay, unfortunately. "Errors" were inserted twice after I posted the work earlier this afternoon. Legal ethics, Mr. Rabner? ("What is it like to be plagiarized?" and "What is it like to be tortured?" then "No More Cover-Ups and Lies, Chief Justice Rabner!")
It is those others who have chosen to abandon their status as persons who are in need of sympathy, not me. These monsters are, in the end, to be pitied. For they can only live comfortably among persons who are as morally repulsive and dimwitted as themselves (Ms. Poritz?), which must be a fate worse than death. And they are, therefore, cursed not to know or be anything but what little they are within themselves, what they have become and will remain in their ideological prisons -- their own envy and greed, anger, and self-chosen stupidity is what they have become and will be forever. Sadly, I must expect more vandalism and censorship of this text. I will continue to write. ("What is it like to be censored in America?")
Thursday, February 25, 2010
The Forest of Arden.
April 2, 2010 at 3:12 P.M. Several attempts to revise essays at my blogs were obstructed. I will try to get to Philosopher's Quest.
March 12, 2010 at 3:40 P.M. An advertisement was attached to this site, illegally, possibly meant to insult me or my writings as laughably unlearned or flaky. You decide.
"The Subconscious Mind Learn How to Jump Into Any Reality You Desire. ... For Real. http://www.quantumjumping.com/ " (Yuk, yuk, yuk.) "John Searle and David Chalmers on Consciousness."
February 25, 2010 at 1:47 P.M. This essay posted earlier this morning has experienced the usual attacks and alterations. I will do my best to make necessary corrections of all inserted "errors."
This essay was written "in a wood near Athens" in 2005 ... well, actually, uptown and about a block from the "A" train. With a little face-lift and push-up bra, I think this text is more timely and looks better today than when it first appeared. Enjoy.
Julian Barnes, England, England (New York: Vintage, 1998).
Helen Vendler, Invisible Listeners: Lyric Intimacy in Herbert, Whitman and Ashberry (Princeton: 2005).
Langdon Hammer, "Overheard Speech," (Book Review), The New York Times, Sunday, October 16, 2005, p. 8.
Why write? People who write because they "have to" find this question bizarre. You might ask yourself: "Why should I bother to breathe?" We just do in order to stay alive. Erica Jong said in an interview that being a writer today is like "becoming a blacksmith or an alchemist" (not a far-fetched analogy!), an expert in an activity that the majority of people no longer value very much. Yet it is the unavoidable fate of some of us to have to write every day. It doesn't matter if publishing opportunities are unfairly denied to us, if our manuscripts are defaced or destroyed, it doesn't matter if we are ignored or insulted. We "ink-stained wretches" will continue to write.
These days carpel-tunnel syndrome is more likely than ink-stains, together with cyberattacks from something called "Doubleclick." New Jersey? Hemingway said that he kept a number of rejection letters taped to the wall of his study. I guess they served as inspiration. Recently, I sent out letters to small publishers to see if any were interested in an essay collection that I am putting together. So far I have received one expression of interest that, I think, amounts to a "yes." I have also received a "no." In neither case can I say why the publisher came to a particular decision. I wonder whether they know why they accept or reject books. ("How Censorship Works in America.")
A number of publishers have not bothered to respond, so who knows? Perhaps they don't approve of my politics or just don't like what I have to say. Viruses, spyware, obstructions (this morning I can't read my work at Lulu) are a daily feature of my writing experience. I wonder whether Shakespeare had these problems? I doubt it. ("Serendipity, III" and "Master and Commander.")
It makes no difference in my case. I will continue to write and put the books out there somehow. It's nice that I now have a commercial publisher, I think, because the book will be more attractive and will be on shelves in bookstores. Anyway, real writers will write no matter what, regardless of discouragement or any other troubles. I am, once again, my own non-commercial publisher, when I can get into my Lulu account, and yes, I am hurt by that. It means that I will continue to write. ("How Censorship Works in America" and "Censorship and Cruelty in New Jersey" as well as "Burn Notice.")
Writing can be a life-saver, especially for the person who has a sense of being misunderstood or not understood at all. You write because you hope that there are others, located elsewhere in the literary landscape, who will recognize the emotions and experiences that you describe and react to them. I never know whether my computer will survive the attacks from one day to the next, nor whether I will be able to renew my security system. Writing, for me, is like living in the trenches of World War I -- long stretches of boredom punctuated by moments of terror.
I was just reading a journal entry by Sylvia Plath addressed to her "demon," and I felt that I uncerstood her so well. A writer (or any artist) sometimes needs to fight off self-doubt and persist. The best thing to do, always, is to keep writing and reading while ignoring all insults as well as dismissals. The insults provide boredom; the defacements of my writings produce concern and sadness.
By "react," I do not mean to approve or agree with what I say. Any reaction is better than none -- and a strong reaction, including a negative review -- is preferable to non-comprehension or dismissal. Anything I publish will be subjected to politically-motivated and -financed attacks. Controversy sells. Go right ahead and attack my writings, as long as you do not alter or try to destroy them.
Writers tend to be eccentric or "weird" in their families and social circles. They are the person no one understood at the dinner table, who adopts -- as a surface persona -- the mores and masks of his contemporaries, but who really lives only in what I call the "Forest of Arden." The dull-witted reader and all lawyers -- who are made literal-minded by their unfortunate training -- will immediately ask: "What is the Forest of Arden? And do they need experts on property law?"
Well, the Forest of Arden is that imaginary space conjured by language where writer and reader meet, maybe where all artists meet the recipients of their works. Shakespeare evokes this magical landscape in several of his plays, especially in "A Midsummer Night's Dream" and "As You Like It." It is that strange territory, which is unique for each of us, where one is likely to run into Huck Finn or Peter Pan, also Prince Hamlet or Sherlock Holmes, or that Vampire from Steven King's Salem's Lot.
Myra Breckinridge discusses cinema with those who are interested, and Sidney Carton shares stories of unrequitted love in a pub. King Kong is always climbing the Empire State building and Fay Wray is always wearing that nightgown.You can play games with David Copperfield; while Oliver Twist steals your wallet. I can sit in a meadow and listen to Jose Marti read his poems and stories for children. Oscar Wilde shares some of his own poems in prose. George Bernard Shaw is making speeches in the "Speaker's Corner" of this landscape. George Orwell and H.G. Wells then take turns in responding. They are happy when you stop to listen or nod in agreement.
Cyrano is always dueling with someone, which can be very annoying. And Caruso sings duets with Callas. Luckily, any real politicians are forbidden entry to this territory, where lawyers, accountants and business consultants are feared much more than wolves in the forest. After all, some of those wolves have tenure and lecture on "Romanticism." Age is non-existent for the residents of this Arden, since all of them are children at heart -- like Wendy. ("A Review of the t.v. Series 'Alice.'")
In the athletes' territory, Joe Louis spars with Jack Dempsey. Some day, Ali will show them who is the greatest. The pick-up basketball games are great. The philosophers have named their grove "The Academy" and they argue all the time, even pretending to understand Hegel -- which is something that not even Hegel does! -- except for Socrates, of course, who insists on being puzzled by all of the others. Marx is planning a revolution. And Wittgenstein sits by himself, or hangs out with the people who like detective stories. "If a lion should learn to speak," he says. But then, in Arden, the lions do speak. ("A Philosophical Investigation of Ludwig Wittgenstein.")
Friedrich Nietzsche wears a "Superman" t-shirt and baggy pants, some big medallions, and likes to knock people down, while doing his own improvisational raps. Don Quixote and Sancho have destroyed all of the windmills. There are still nice cottages in what John Fowles describes as "the echanted grove." You cannot buy them, but you can have as many as you like. And Don Juan is always kissing the ladies behind one of those cottages. Every tree has a "Z" carved into it by Zorro. The most intimate conversations, which are sometimes whispered, take place with poets. All of the poets of the Harlem Renaissance, for example, recite their works. We often must overhear them ...
"John Stuart Mill memorably described poetry as 'overheard' speech. His image calls to mind the solitary poet so absorbed in conversation with himself that we are able to sneak up behind and listen in. Often, this means overhearing the poet talking not so much to himself as to someone who is not there. Vendler's study [Invisible Listeners] concerns a special type of overhearing in which the poet's addressee is not a distant lover or mourned-for child, but a figure more of fantasy, of purely poetic imagination. [Ms. Woolf's "ideal reader"?] Poetry of this kind begins in the poet's craving for a listener, a desire so keen it calls its object into being." (Langdon Hammer)
The Forest of Arden is the linguistic landscape "called into being" by writers and readers, by writers as readers. It is the place where all art lives. In England, England by Julian Barnes, we are asked to imagine an "England where all the pubs are quaint, where the Windsors behave themselves (mostly), where the cliffs of Dover are actually white, and where Robin Hood and his men really are merry. ... "
British Airways cannot "fly you there," only you can really do that. If you need some help to imagine this setting, then rent the film "Finding Neverland." For a mere $13.00, Mr. Barnes will be only too pleased to show you the way to Arden in his interesting story, with an ulterior motive or two. Novelists delight in ulterior motives. The one great requisite in Arden is a child-like quality of innocence which is, sadly, beaten out of most people early in life. One resident of Arden named Alice, tells a curious story of tumbling down a rabbit hole, landing in a dark space where she found a very small door --
"-- 'What a curious feeling,' exclaimed Alice. 'I must be closing up like a telescope.' ..."
That is exactly what happened to Alice. Many of us know what it is like, as children, to close up like a telescope. Sometimes the place that hurts inside seems to grow and we become only the wound, feeling only pain. If we can love someone so much that this love's reality is even greater than the pain, then the love becomes Arden. Love becomes this space of safety and peace, where they cannot hurt us anymore. Wonderland. Never, Never Land. A rent-controlled apartment in Manhattan. "Serendipity, III"?
I will take a deep breath, restart my computer and try (again) to read my work at Lulu, expecting those insulting comments and further computer viruses, alterations or destructions of my writings, as my daily experience of the hatred that deforms so many unfortunate people's lives. The challenge is not to give in to the impulse to respond in kind, while insisting on justice. I will not alter or deface the writings or creative expressions of others. I also will not hesitate to continue to speak freely, regardless of what New Jersey officials and other mafia members think of what I have to say.
"She was only ten inches high, and her face brightened up at the thought that she was now the right size to go through the little door into that lovely garden."
We must become small again to go through that special door to Arden. Mr. Barnes, in his novel, explains why this is so:
"... What held her attention now were the children's faces, which expressed such willing yet complex trust in reality. As she saw it, they had not yet reached the age of incredulity, only of wonder; so that even when they disbelieved, they also believed. The tubby, peering dwarf in the distorting mirror was them and wasn't them: both were true."
The distorting mirror is, of course, the text -- cinematic or literary texts, canvas or stone, even music and theater. You see yourself in this text by seeing me. Hegel is perking up again. And Miss Alice agrees. Like many of us ...
"This curious girl likes to pretend to be two people."
Alas, there is a problem for Alice:
" 'But it's no use now,' Alice thought, 'to pretend to be two people. Why, there's hardly enough of me left to make one complete person.' ..."
Immanuel Kant came to the rescue and explained to Alice all about the noumenal and phenomenal, the way in which we all exist on dual planes anyway. They went off together, then, to chat about philosophy. The two of us make one great person.
We write to invite others to join us in the Forest of Arden. If you have read this entry, then you must be a regular visitor to that territory already. Welcome.
March 12, 2010 at 3:40 P.M. An advertisement was attached to this site, illegally, possibly meant to insult me or my writings as laughably unlearned or flaky. You decide.
"The Subconscious Mind Learn How to Jump Into Any Reality You Desire. ... For Real. http://www.quantumjumping.com/ " (Yuk, yuk, yuk.) "John Searle and David Chalmers on Consciousness."
February 25, 2010 at 1:47 P.M. This essay posted earlier this morning has experienced the usual attacks and alterations. I will do my best to make necessary corrections of all inserted "errors."
This essay was written "in a wood near Athens" in 2005 ... well, actually, uptown and about a block from the "A" train. With a little face-lift and push-up bra, I think this text is more timely and looks better today than when it first appeared. Enjoy.
Julian Barnes, England, England (New York: Vintage, 1998).
Helen Vendler, Invisible Listeners: Lyric Intimacy in Herbert, Whitman and Ashberry (Princeton: 2005).
Langdon Hammer, "Overheard Speech," (Book Review), The New York Times, Sunday, October 16, 2005, p. 8.
Why write? People who write because they "have to" find this question bizarre. You might ask yourself: "Why should I bother to breathe?" We just do in order to stay alive. Erica Jong said in an interview that being a writer today is like "becoming a blacksmith or an alchemist" (not a far-fetched analogy!), an expert in an activity that the majority of people no longer value very much. Yet it is the unavoidable fate of some of us to have to write every day. It doesn't matter if publishing opportunities are unfairly denied to us, if our manuscripts are defaced or destroyed, it doesn't matter if we are ignored or insulted. We "ink-stained wretches" will continue to write.
These days carpel-tunnel syndrome is more likely than ink-stains, together with cyberattacks from something called "Doubleclick." New Jersey? Hemingway said that he kept a number of rejection letters taped to the wall of his study. I guess they served as inspiration. Recently, I sent out letters to small publishers to see if any were interested in an essay collection that I am putting together. So far I have received one expression of interest that, I think, amounts to a "yes." I have also received a "no." In neither case can I say why the publisher came to a particular decision. I wonder whether they know why they accept or reject books. ("How Censorship Works in America.")
A number of publishers have not bothered to respond, so who knows? Perhaps they don't approve of my politics or just don't like what I have to say. Viruses, spyware, obstructions (this morning I can't read my work at Lulu) are a daily feature of my writing experience. I wonder whether Shakespeare had these problems? I doubt it. ("Serendipity, III" and "Master and Commander.")
It makes no difference in my case. I will continue to write and put the books out there somehow. It's nice that I now have a commercial publisher, I think, because the book will be more attractive and will be on shelves in bookstores. Anyway, real writers will write no matter what, regardless of discouragement or any other troubles. I am, once again, my own non-commercial publisher, when I can get into my Lulu account, and yes, I am hurt by that. It means that I will continue to write. ("How Censorship Works in America" and "Censorship and Cruelty in New Jersey" as well as "Burn Notice.")
Writing can be a life-saver, especially for the person who has a sense of being misunderstood or not understood at all. You write because you hope that there are others, located elsewhere in the literary landscape, who will recognize the emotions and experiences that you describe and react to them. I never know whether my computer will survive the attacks from one day to the next, nor whether I will be able to renew my security system. Writing, for me, is like living in the trenches of World War I -- long stretches of boredom punctuated by moments of terror.
I was just reading a journal entry by Sylvia Plath addressed to her "demon," and I felt that I uncerstood her so well. A writer (or any artist) sometimes needs to fight off self-doubt and persist. The best thing to do, always, is to keep writing and reading while ignoring all insults as well as dismissals. The insults provide boredom; the defacements of my writings produce concern and sadness.
By "react," I do not mean to approve or agree with what I say. Any reaction is better than none -- and a strong reaction, including a negative review -- is preferable to non-comprehension or dismissal. Anything I publish will be subjected to politically-motivated and -financed attacks. Controversy sells. Go right ahead and attack my writings, as long as you do not alter or try to destroy them.
Writers tend to be eccentric or "weird" in their families and social circles. They are the person no one understood at the dinner table, who adopts -- as a surface persona -- the mores and masks of his contemporaries, but who really lives only in what I call the "Forest of Arden." The dull-witted reader and all lawyers -- who are made literal-minded by their unfortunate training -- will immediately ask: "What is the Forest of Arden? And do they need experts on property law?"
Well, the Forest of Arden is that imaginary space conjured by language where writer and reader meet, maybe where all artists meet the recipients of their works. Shakespeare evokes this magical landscape in several of his plays, especially in "A Midsummer Night's Dream" and "As You Like It." It is that strange territory, which is unique for each of us, where one is likely to run into Huck Finn or Peter Pan, also Prince Hamlet or Sherlock Holmes, or that Vampire from Steven King's Salem's Lot.
Myra Breckinridge discusses cinema with those who are interested, and Sidney Carton shares stories of unrequitted love in a pub. King Kong is always climbing the Empire State building and Fay Wray is always wearing that nightgown.You can play games with David Copperfield; while Oliver Twist steals your wallet. I can sit in a meadow and listen to Jose Marti read his poems and stories for children. Oscar Wilde shares some of his own poems in prose. George Bernard Shaw is making speeches in the "Speaker's Corner" of this landscape. George Orwell and H.G. Wells then take turns in responding. They are happy when you stop to listen or nod in agreement.
Cyrano is always dueling with someone, which can be very annoying. And Caruso sings duets with Callas. Luckily, any real politicians are forbidden entry to this territory, where lawyers, accountants and business consultants are feared much more than wolves in the forest. After all, some of those wolves have tenure and lecture on "Romanticism." Age is non-existent for the residents of this Arden, since all of them are children at heart -- like Wendy. ("A Review of the t.v. Series 'Alice.'")
In the athletes' territory, Joe Louis spars with Jack Dempsey. Some day, Ali will show them who is the greatest. The pick-up basketball games are great. The philosophers have named their grove "The Academy" and they argue all the time, even pretending to understand Hegel -- which is something that not even Hegel does! -- except for Socrates, of course, who insists on being puzzled by all of the others. Marx is planning a revolution. And Wittgenstein sits by himself, or hangs out with the people who like detective stories. "If a lion should learn to speak," he says. But then, in Arden, the lions do speak. ("A Philosophical Investigation of Ludwig Wittgenstein.")
Friedrich Nietzsche wears a "Superman" t-shirt and baggy pants, some big medallions, and likes to knock people down, while doing his own improvisational raps. Don Quixote and Sancho have destroyed all of the windmills. There are still nice cottages in what John Fowles describes as "the echanted grove." You cannot buy them, but you can have as many as you like. And Don Juan is always kissing the ladies behind one of those cottages. Every tree has a "Z" carved into it by Zorro. The most intimate conversations, which are sometimes whispered, take place with poets. All of the poets of the Harlem Renaissance, for example, recite their works. We often must overhear them ...
"John Stuart Mill memorably described poetry as 'overheard' speech. His image calls to mind the solitary poet so absorbed in conversation with himself that we are able to sneak up behind and listen in. Often, this means overhearing the poet talking not so much to himself as to someone who is not there. Vendler's study [Invisible Listeners] concerns a special type of overhearing in which the poet's addressee is not a distant lover or mourned-for child, but a figure more of fantasy, of purely poetic imagination. [Ms. Woolf's "ideal reader"?] Poetry of this kind begins in the poet's craving for a listener, a desire so keen it calls its object into being." (Langdon Hammer)
The Forest of Arden is the linguistic landscape "called into being" by writers and readers, by writers as readers. It is the place where all art lives. In England, England by Julian Barnes, we are asked to imagine an "England where all the pubs are quaint, where the Windsors behave themselves (mostly), where the cliffs of Dover are actually white, and where Robin Hood and his men really are merry. ... "
British Airways cannot "fly you there," only you can really do that. If you need some help to imagine this setting, then rent the film "Finding Neverland." For a mere $13.00, Mr. Barnes will be only too pleased to show you the way to Arden in his interesting story, with an ulterior motive or two. Novelists delight in ulterior motives. The one great requisite in Arden is a child-like quality of innocence which is, sadly, beaten out of most people early in life. One resident of Arden named Alice, tells a curious story of tumbling down a rabbit hole, landing in a dark space where she found a very small door --
"-- 'What a curious feeling,' exclaimed Alice. 'I must be closing up like a telescope.' ..."
That is exactly what happened to Alice. Many of us know what it is like, as children, to close up like a telescope. Sometimes the place that hurts inside seems to grow and we become only the wound, feeling only pain. If we can love someone so much that this love's reality is even greater than the pain, then the love becomes Arden. Love becomes this space of safety and peace, where they cannot hurt us anymore. Wonderland. Never, Never Land. A rent-controlled apartment in Manhattan. "Serendipity, III"?
I will take a deep breath, restart my computer and try (again) to read my work at Lulu, expecting those insulting comments and further computer viruses, alterations or destructions of my writings, as my daily experience of the hatred that deforms so many unfortunate people's lives. The challenge is not to give in to the impulse to respond in kind, while insisting on justice. I will not alter or deface the writings or creative expressions of others. I also will not hesitate to continue to speak freely, regardless of what New Jersey officials and other mafia members think of what I have to say.
"She was only ten inches high, and her face brightened up at the thought that she was now the right size to go through the little door into that lovely garden."
We must become small again to go through that special door to Arden. Mr. Barnes, in his novel, explains why this is so:
"... What held her attention now were the children's faces, which expressed such willing yet complex trust in reality. As she saw it, they had not yet reached the age of incredulity, only of wonder; so that even when they disbelieved, they also believed. The tubby, peering dwarf in the distorting mirror was them and wasn't them: both were true."
The distorting mirror is, of course, the text -- cinematic or literary texts, canvas or stone, even music and theater. You see yourself in this text by seeing me. Hegel is perking up again. And Miss Alice agrees. Like many of us ...
"This curious girl likes to pretend to be two people."
Alas, there is a problem for Alice:
" 'But it's no use now,' Alice thought, 'to pretend to be two people. Why, there's hardly enough of me left to make one complete person.' ..."
Immanuel Kant came to the rescue and explained to Alice all about the noumenal and phenomenal, the way in which we all exist on dual planes anyway. They went off together, then, to chat about philosophy. The two of us make one great person.
We write to invite others to join us in the Forest of Arden. If you have read this entry, then you must be a regular visitor to that territory already. Welcome.
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